Beginning's End
by IronyRocks
Summary: During "Before I Sleep," the alternative version of John Sheppard lived as well. ShepWeir AU. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Beginning's End (Complete)  
**Rating:** NC-17 (PG-13 version also available in a link below.)  
**Categories:** Sheppard/Weir, AU, romance, Action/Adventure, Angst  
**Summary:** During "Before I Sleep," the alternative version of John Sheppard lived as well.  
**Beta'd:** This story was beta'd by the fabulous **shayz**, who gave me constructive criticism and reworked entire passages for me to make them more coherent. I think I have a better grasp of the English language now, all because of you, and this story, I think, would have turned out vastly different if it hadn't been for your fabulous additions. I don't lie when I say your relentless work made this story more than a thousand times better. :P  
**Warnings:** Character death (it is based on "BIS") Language, violence, and sexual situations.  
**Spoilers** Main spoilers for "Before I Sleep", "Rising", and "Aurora".

Nominated for  
**Best Sheppard/Weir Drama Fic****In 2007 Stargate Fan Awards**

* * *

. . . And then there were two.

Staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling of the Atlantis Infirmary, John Sheppard debated on the merits of whether his life had turned into a science fiction movie or a horror movie.

He decided it was fifty-fifty. The time traveling and the aliens and the galaxy far, far away made him think of _Star Wars_ and _Star Trek_ and all the other Star-related (huh, Stargate. Well, wasn't that just convenient?) things he'd seen in his life, but the death and chaos that had followed him since he'd first stepped through the wormhole and onto Atlantis made him rethink things through. Horror was definitely a part of his life now.

Ten thousands years into the past and a galaxy away from home meant only one thing: everybody he knew was dead. Or not yet born. He wasn't really sure if there was much of a difference, especially since the end result was the same. Considering he'd just woken up from a nightmare of men and women screaming and drowning under an avalanche of water . . . which had actually happened; well, it made the whole 'dead theory' seem more concrete than any abstract concept of time-travel.

Freakin' _time-travel,_ John thought, scrubbing both hands over his face. The drugs in his system were good at dulling physical pain – or so Janus informed him – but they also made him incredibly restless when he wasn't sleeping. He had an inkling it also made him slightly loopy. All things considered, there was no way he should have been able to take what had happened to him as lightly as he was right now.

There should have been yelling and cursing and not a small bit of violence involved on his part, but John only considered himself on the border of irritation and restlessness. It had to be because of the drugs.

In any case, his mind refused to be a good boy and shut down, and the frustration level seemed to build the longer John stayed awake. Hooked up to the high-resolution holographic monitors and an IV drip that contained an unfamiliar reddish substance, John never hated the idea of being sick more. He didn't feel sick, though, not beyond a slight case of fatigue and dizziness every time he tried any bold movements (like standing up too quickly; that had been a bad idea), but the list of injuries Janus had told him he sustained in the crash ran longer than the offenses at his almost-court-martial.

He should be dead. _They_ should be dead.

With the number of injuries inflicted after their ship _thingy_ got blown out of space and into a freezing alien ocean, under normal medical care, they would be. But they were in Atlantis now, under the care of the _Ancients_, and there was nothing normal about that.

He glanced over at the infirmary bed to his right. Dr. Elizabeth Weir, his sole companion, lay turned to one side with her back to him. He didn't think she was sleeping, but didn't test his theory either. He covertly scrutinized her – noticing that her body under the thin white sheet that made her look incredibly small and vulnerable – and with the knowledge that she was the last thing familiar to him, he wondered what he should call her. Dr. Weir seemed so formal… considering.

He'd known her all of seven days, and although he knew she was a diplomat of some kind (an internationally acclaimed negotiator if he heard right), she was as much a mystery to him as anything else at the moment. He knew she was well-respected, enthusiastic, clearly a little bit innocent – it shined through every time she'd spoken of Atlantis – but she had a deep sense of duty that John respected.

Other than that, however, he didn't know anything about her: where she came from, what she left behind, what she had expected from the expedition or from him. But when she approached him about joining the expedition, she'd been so eager, so animated.

Now, though, she simply looked ashen and worn out and not entirely because of the drugs she was similarly hooked up to. He should say something to her; something comforting and wise, but words failed to mean much under the weight of the realization that they were, literally, the last two of their kind.

A hundred cheesy pick-up lines filtered through his mind. It was like something out of a bad '80's movie, he decided definitively. They were the last man and woman from Earth, fighting for their survival in an unknown galaxy. Of all the B-grade plots to be placed in, John would much rather preferred to have been stranded on a deserted island instead. At least there, he wouldn't have had to consciously ignore the fact that every man, woman, and child he'd ever met was _dead!_

Suddenly and overwhelmingly irritated, he sat up and viciously pounded his pillow with the ruse of getting a more comfortable shape out of it; though really, he just needed to punch something. The action was audible and distracting enough that Elizabeth noticed, even with her back to him, and turned over.

"It's all so fucking morbid," he muttered, without meaning to.

Her lips curled upwards, ruefully. "Yeah, it really is."

Her green eyes were dull, empty in comparison to the outright wonder he'd seen reflected there only twenty-four hours ago. It ratcheted up the frustrating level another notch and John had to fight the urge to rip out the IV and jump off his bed, knowing that the action would only result in him ending up in a pathetic lump on the floor.

"How much longer are they going to keep us here?"

"Here in Atlantis?" Elizabeth asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or here in the infirmary?"

"Both," John groaned. "Either one. I don't care."

She licked her lips. "Janus said we'd have to stay here overnight, but tomorrow they'll move us into other quarters. He doesn't think the dizziness and fatigue is going to last much longer."

John nodded, unable to take his eyes away from her. At least she was real.

She sighed, shifting in her bed again, and stared up at the ceiling. Her voice turned into such a soft whisper that John had to strain to hear it. "I keep thinking about Rodney and Dr. Zelenka. Colonel Sumner. The thirty-eight other people that walked through the Stargate under my command and then…" She shook her head, fighting back strong emotions. "It shouldn't have ended that way." She slowly sat up and turned to him, determination settling into her eyes. "And I've been thinking, it's not going to."

John raised an eyebrow. "Okaaay. Are we going through the denial stage of the evening? Because if you give me a few minutes, I could probably join in on the fun."

She arched an eyebrow. "I'm serious, Major. We traveled in time," she said, voice level. "And we can travel back… or forward, as the case may be. Point is, we can prevent any of this from ever happening. All we need is that ship we came in."

"The one that we crashed into the bottom of the ocean and is now in little bits and pieces?"

Elizabeth's enthusiasm sagged with her shoulders. "Okay, I admit, that's a set-back. But they probably have another time-travel machine of some sort. We just have to convince these Ancients to allow us to use it."

John had to admit, he was beginning to see the beauty of this idea. It could work. And hell, if it had even the remotest chance of working, then he would make damn-well-sure it _did_ work. Whether it wanted to or not.

"Janus seems like a decent man," Elizabeth continued. "If we talk to him… explain. He'll agree."

"If not," John added, trying to keep the edge off his voice. "I'll convince him otherwise."

Elizabeth gave him a warning look. "Careful, Major. These are the Ancients we're talking about. You can't bully them. And getting on their bad side is not something I want to do. We have to be very careful about presenting the best image possible. For this to work, they need to _want_ to help us."

John raised surrendering hands and nodded once. "You're the boss."

She immediately swallowed hard and turned away, like there was a bitter aftertaste in that statement. She laid back down, staring up at the Atlantis ceiling that John knew offered nothing but a smooth flawless texture to scrutinize. For a moment, he wondered what dark thoughts circled inside her head. The images and screams. If they were the same as his. He had a gut feeling that Elizabeth was struggling to keep her head clear, just like he was.

"Hey," he said, surprised by the encouraging tone in his own voice. "We'll fix this. We'll get out of here and save them."

"We have to," Elizabeth said softly, but firmly. "Otherwise I don't know what the hell I'll do with myself."

* * *

Hours passed as they remained confined to the infirmary under the mandated observation and rest routine. A few of the Ancients that filtered through the place seemed far more interested in other business than observing them. John found that a little unusual considering Elizabeth and he represented two honest-to-goodness time-travelers from the future. But apparently it took more than that for anyone on Atlantis to get excited. Mostly, they flit around the area with a forcefulness and concentration that exhausted John just by looking at them, all tense and jittery.

Something was up.

He asked, but no one answered. He couldn't even charm one of the "nurses" into telling him what all the hubbub was about. She simply blinked at him, but before John could explain the term, she told him to rest and turned her back on him.

As the nurse scurried away, John's gaze collided with Elizabeth's. "They're obviously not allowed to tell us anything, Major." She managed to look both amused and pitying at the same time. "There's no use trying."

"Yeah, well, there's only so much rest I can take," he muttered, getting anxious. "Shouldn't we be doing something? Or they be doing something? We've traveled from the future and they've barely given us a 'how-do-ya-do' before shipping us off to a corner. They've gotta be curious about us."

"I was actually thinking the same thing. I know if I were in their position, I'd want answers as soon as possible."

John studied the room. The constant ebb and flow of activity as people went in and out was… wrong. "I think they've got something more pressing on their minds."

An anxious look flashed over Elizabeth face; that idea didn't sit well with her. John wholeheartedly agreed. He hated being in the dark, almost as much as he hated being useless. The idea that the Ancients were in the middle of something that put Elizabeth's and his situation on the back burner didn't bode well for them. They needed the Ancient's undivided attention and help.

Otherwise, they were just plain screwed.

* * *

Sometime later, they were finally released from the infirmary, and although his legs initially seemed unstable and weak, John refused to be pushed in a wheelchair and stubbornly willed his body upright as they were escorted through the hallways. Elizabeth, having been in better medical shape from the beginning, didn't struggle as much as he did, but John was pretty sure the healthy color in her cheeks had more to do with their change in environment than anything else.

Unlike the white sanitized infirmary, the rest of Atlantis seemed to be constructed for beauty. John had never been one to notice much of aesthetics or architecture, but the beauty of Atlantis was something that anyone who stepped foot on it would automatically notice. The entire City was all smooth surfaces and sleek sophistication. Having spent the majority of his life in one bland military facility or another, it was a nice change to see vibrant colors, wide open spaces and elegance in structure that was visually pleasing.

Elizabeth eyed the surroundings with barely concealed wonder, and that dull emptiness left her eyes in an instant and, if only for a moment, it seemed as if she'd forgotten the events that brought them there.

They were led into a conference room where a semi-circular table in the center held three people on the outer rim, like judges in a panel. Apparently, this was the Council that Janus had mentioned Elizabeth and John were to meet. Remembering Elizabeth's earlier words to be on his best behavior, John pasted on a casual, friendly smile. These people held his life and those of his people in their hands and he wasn't about to piss them off. He nodded at each as they made their introductions, and then Elizabeth introduced herself and John.

Melia, a slight woman with long black hair and what looked like Asian eyes, seemed to specialize in the same brand of congeniality as Elizabeth. They exchanged pleasantries, and while Elizabeth informed her of their current health and well being, John eyed the oldest Ancient in the room, Moros. He sat next to Janus and stared at John with an expression that reminded him of the contemptuous looks Principal Hading use to give him in elementary school.

John smiled in return, trying for innocence, but this simply succeeded in turning Moros' expression more sour. John cleared his throat as a few more people filed into the room. As the last of the introductions were made, Moros called the meeting to order.

Melia officially greeted them, "We welcome you to the city of Atlantis."

"Thank you," Elizabeth nodded. "Major Sheppard and I are both honored to be here."

Melia's smile faltered. "Unfortunately, your arrival has come at a time of great conflict. We've been under siege for many years and have submerged our city as a measure of protection."

"Yeah, we know," John replied. "It's how we found the city when we first came through the Stargate."

Moros cast John a suspicious look. "From Earth?"

Elizabeth nodded, but it was Janus that answered for them. "Ten thousand years from now." He smiled eagerly, reminding John for a moment of some of the zealous scientists on the expedition. The ones he hadn't gotten the chance to know. "It should be duly noted that our actions have succeeded in protecting the city for so many years."

Melia interrupted, dispensing with the pleasantries. "Let us hope their arrival has not altered this eventuality. By directly encountering the Wraith, they may have already set in motion a chain of events that could lead to a future far different from the one they left."

John paused, and then raised a hand in the air. "Uh, sorry. What's a Wraith?"

Several people stared at him with wide eyes and then shifted in their seats uncomfortably. John felt layers of tension settling into the atmosphere like a heavy, damp blanket and his stomach clenched in response. After a moment, Moros answered, "The Wraith are a species of this galaxy that we have been at war with for the last hundred years. They have a formidable army and use a level of technology that rivals our own."

Janus sighed, but it sounded more like a groan to John. "They also suck the life from us by feeding off our bodies, and have vowed to eradicate our existence from this galaxy. Let us not mince words, Moros. We are at war." He turned to Elizabeth and John with haunted eyes, and stated emphatically, "And we are losing."

John appreciated the man's bluntness, but even as he marked another tally for the reasons to like the guy, he felt a sickening chill work up his spine. If the Ancients were losing, he couldn't imagine the threat these Wraith truly posed. Even worse was that no one bothered to counter Janus or alleviate some of the bleakness in his words.

Melia cleared her throat, looking down. "There is one last attempt to negotiate with the Wraith. We are sending a delegation protected by our most powerful warships in the faint hope of negotiating a truce. They will be leaving in two days from Atlantis."

"It is a fool's mission," Janus replied, forcefully. "You cannot reason with the Wraith."

"If that plan should fail," Moros replied, "then we must await the last of our off-world transport ships to return before beginning the evacuation through the Stargate."

"Abandon Atlantis?" John heard the shock in his own voice. He knew it was going to happen but he never expected to be there at the precise moment it occurred.

Elizabeth shared John's surprise. "Where will you go?"

"We are returning to Earth," Melia informed. "You are welcome to join us, of course."

Elizabeth smiled a tad forcefully. "Thank you. That's very kind, but I'm sure you understand our desire to return to the future – to _our_ people. We were hoping we would be able to use a time machine again, and program it to arrive at the precise moment we came through the Stargate – and if it was possible, and you had a spare ZPM we could take that back with us as well. That would help us considerably. See, the power systems of the city were virtually depleted–"

"No!" Agitated, Moros shot up from his chair. "Enough of this tampering with time. Causality is not to be treated so lightly."

Janus looked pleading. "No one is treating it lightly."

"_You_ are!" Moros glared at him. "With your insistence on continuing with these experiments despite the condemnation of this Council. We ordered you to cease these activities and yet here we sit, face-to-face with visitors from the future who arrived here in the very machine you agreed not to construct."

Janus didn't back down. "We are about to evacuate this city in the hope that it will lie safe for many years and then, one day, our kind will return." He looked pointedly towards both Elizabeth and John with gratitude. "And they have. It is _because_ of my experiments that we now have the opportunity–"

"_Enough!_" Moros interrupted. "We have no time for this."

"Well," John said, catching onto Janus's frustration, "with all due respect, make time."

"John," Elizabeth warned.

Ignoring her, he faced Moros. "We're not meant to be here. I understand you've got bigger fish to fry at the moment, but you can't shuffle us off into the corner and then forget about us."

"No one is suggesting we do that," Melia countered.

"No? Then what are you suggesting?" John asked in a demanding tone. "Dr. Weir and I are not from here. We deserve to go back to our time and save our people."

Moros looked angry enough to spit nails. "You do not even realize what you are talking about! Janus, explain to our guests the concept of time-travel that is obviously gone beyond their comprehension. Explain to them why they can never change their past."

Elizabeth stood at this point, confusion evident as she turned to Janus. "What is he talking about?"

Janus frowned. "Time-travel is . . . a very complex system of parallel universes. The moment you traveled to our time, you created a separate reality – universe – which is divergent from your original one. What has happened in your original reality is no longer within our abilities to control or change. Should you choose to travel in time again, forward from here, you would in fact be traveling to another parallel universe based on this past, this time. You could, theoretically, save them, but they would not be _your_ people. And, more than likely, you would encounter your own doubles, which would lead to the unpleasant side-effects of phase shifting and–"

"So you're saying," John cut in, "that our people are dead, and there's no changing that?"

Janus nodded solemnly.

Elizabeth looked pale enough to faint for a moment, but she swallowed hard and forcefully recovered. "Still, we can save others. Save our doubles and their people. We can't let the same disaster happen twice."

"No," Moros replied, firmly. "Time is not to be meddled with so lightly. What will happen must happen. It is not for us to decide fate."

"What do you suggest we do?" John asked, outraged. "Just sit back and let–"

"You have no choice in the matter," Moros interrupted. "I am hereby ordering the destruction of any time-traveling device, and all the materials connected with its design. You are both welcome to return to Earth with our people." He paused, standing tall and rigid. "You shall not be returning to yours."

John turned incredulous enough to see red in every direction, and despite trying to get in another word edgewise, Moros effectively ignored any further protests and walked out the door. Both Janus and Melia stayed behind, trading conspicuously less-than-pleased glances with each other over the outcome of the meeting. Had John not been fighting the urge to chase down Moros and convince him to change his mind, he might have taken advantage of the moment.

Luckily, Elizabeth did. She quickly crossed the room and quietly conversed with Janus, before both of them turned to face Melia as a unified front. John had enough time to cross the room to hear small snippets of the conversation.

"You need to talk to Moros," Janus implored. "Dr. Weir and Major Sheppard were brought here through no fault of their own. They shouldn't be punished for it."

Melia regarded them with sympathetic eyes. "They are free to come back with us to Earth and live among our kind–"

"They need to return to _their_ time, not remain in ours."

"That is not possible." Melia bowed her head slightly. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't get us anywhere," John said, coming up behind Elizabeth. "We need some damn help."

Elizabeth sent a quelling look in his direction, and seeing as his other outbursts hadn't done any good, he subsided. She turned back to Melia. "I don't think you understand how far we've come, or how much our people have sacrificed in the hopes of meeting you." She paused and John saw the glimmer of innocence in her eyes that he'd first seen in Antarctica. "We call you the Ancients. The Gate builders. We've crossed galaxies in the hopes of finding a great people. Please, is there no other way you can help?"

John understood now why Dr. Elizabeth Weir was internationally acclaimed diplomat. And for a moment, it seemed like her words were having the necessary effect on Melia. "We could block the Stargate permanently after the evacuation. That way, in the future, your team will be unable to come here."

Janus immediately looked incredulous. "If they can't come, the city may never be found."

"But the lives of their expedition will be saved."

It surprised John that Elizabeth didn't even bat an eyelash at the suggestion. "Thank you for your generous offer but we are explorers - just like you."

Before John could cut in to buffer Elizabeth's words, Janus spoke up again. "Which should come as no surprise since they are the second evolution of our kind. Major Sheppard even shares some of our genetics. Don't you understand? This city will survive ten thousand years."

Words stalled on John's lips as Melia struggled internally, but eventually she turned back to the group with resolute eyes. "I'm sorry," she said again. "The Council's decision is final." She turned and walked away, leaving Janus and Elizabeth speechless in her wake.

John felt like the last person in this place with any bit of sense whatsoever.

He didn't say anything at first, though. He waited impatiently as Janus gathered up his things and escorted them back to the Infirmary for their over-night observation, giving half-hearted words of comfort to them along the entire way. John did his best to contain his anger, well aware that Janus looked to be the best ally they had in this place, but as soon as Janus had cleared away to return to his laboratory, John turned on Elizabeth and decided to let loose.

"Are you completely insane?"

She stopped walking towards her bed and arched an eyebrow at him. "Excuse me?"

He exhaled hard, reined in his anger and started again. "Why didn't you agree to have the Gate closed off? It would save the expedition."

Her mouth gaped open in astonishment as she turned to face him fully. "And prevent anyone from ever discovering Atlantis again."

He couldn't wrap his mind around her logic. "What good would that do if less than twenty-four hours later they're drowning at the bottom of the ocean floor? They're going to _die._"

"Not if we do something about it first."

John stared at her in utter confusion. "Were you at the same meeting I was just at? Because I don't think you were paying attention to the definitive decision that happened in there to _screw us over!_"

"Major!" Elizabeth exclaimed, voice turning ice-cold. "I understand your disappointment, but now is not the time to lose our composure."

"It's not the time to lose touch with reality either. How are we possibly going to save them?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth, only to falter. "I-I don't know... but there has to be a way."

He ran a hand through his hair, and although a part of him understood her need to think there was still hope to change the past - future - _whatever!_ - John had always been raised in practicality.

And in practical terms, they were fucked.

The Ancients weren't going to help them, not under Moros' command. And without the Ancients' help, they had no avenues of possibilities. They had to face reality. If given no other option, John didn't want to shut the door on the one choice they did have available. Closing off the gate to any future expeditions would save lives, and above all else – even above Elizabeth's optimism – he had to make sure that those future lives were saved.

"There might not be a way," he said, breaking the silence. "If they don't allow us to use the ship, then we have to close off the gate." The very idea seemed to repulse every fiber of Elizabeth's being, but he could see the seeds of hesitation sprouting. "This is what you hired me for," John reminded her. "To give you military options. Provide you with cold hard facts. And the reality of the situation is, Doctor, as of now, any future expeditions are headed towards the same fate we just escaped from. We can't afford to let the vain hope of exploration blind us from that."

"All this knowledge," she said, waving her hands around in futility. "This entire place… it'll just lay to waste at the bottom of the ocean."

"With all due respect to this place," John said coolly, "better it than our people."

A nurse came up before Elizabeth could respond, and instructed them – or ordered them, more like - back to bed. John cast Elizabeth one long, hard look but she climbed into bed without even glancing back at him. He couldn't blame her for suddenly turning defensive. He wanted to convince her – and paradoxically, a small part of him also wanted to believe in her too – but he couldn't imagine any way and he was a pretty imaginative guy, always thinking outside the box. But this box had sealed them in. Her optimism was refreshing, but unwarranted. The more he thought about it, the more he realized the complete bleakness of their situation.

Elizabeth turned her back to him again, but he could tell from her rigid shoulders that sleep wouldn't come easily for her tonight. Right now, he was glad they had never worked within the same command structure. He couldn't imagine they would have seen eye-to-eye on much. He respected her, but he didn't understand her. They were complete and utter opposites, and that boded disastrous for any decisions that had to be made bilaterally.

He spent the night tossing and turning, hooked up once again to a red substance that should have lulled him to sleep but didn't. There was too much on his mind. Try as he might, he couldn't shut his brain down. The often heard rustling of Elizabeth provided John with a few distractions, if only to break the awkward silence. He knew she didn't want to admit defeat - neither did John, because he had the feeling that the images of people he barely knew, yet still felt responsible for, would never stop haunting him otherwise.

He remembered Dr. Rodney McKay, trapped in the Gateroom as millions of gallons of water poured in. He thought of Lt. Ford, fresh out of military school and as green as he'd ever seen them come; Dr. Zelenka, with the thick Czech accent that sometimes made him difficult to understand; The Scottish Dr. Beckett, who had nearly killed him with the squid-like drone and then profusely apologized about it afterwards. Sgt. Bates, Peter Grodin, and the other two dozen men and women he barely knew and never had the chance to get to know also flashed across his mind.

He thought about Colonel Sumner last. The commander's opinion of John had not been flattering. Looking back, John realized that Sumner recognized him for what he was, and knew his place was not with the expedition. Right now, he would give anything to be able to tell Sumner that he was right after all. This wasn't his place, and he was not a man capable of handling the fallout of the biggest mission disaster in the history of mankind.

Everybody had been right about him. Everybody except Dr. Elizabeth Weir, who saw something in him that was obviously never there. He had wanted to believe he still had a chance left. He had wanted to revive his flailing career and prove to all those military bigwigs that he wasn't a complete loser destined for low-level posts.

Lying there in the infirmary as the last of two survivors of the freakin' second evolution of humanity, John never felt the sting of his inferiority more in his entire life. He glanced over at Elizabeth, and felt resentment build up. He had no right to feel that way, and he knew she didn't deserve it, but the fact remained: Dr. Elizabeth Weir was the _only_ reason he was in this mess.

He turned over on his side, his back to hers, and wondered why fate had ever interceded to bring this woman into his life.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, John was checked over by one of the doctors – who actually referred to themselves as Healers – and given a clean bill of heath pending any dizziness or headaches occurring in the next twenty-four hours. John smiled widely, assured the doctor he would be fine, and practically jogged his way out of the infirmary in his eagerness to leave the sterile surroundings. He always hated hospitals.

He met up with Elizabeth outside, and slowed to a stop before she even turned around to greet him with a forced smile. He did his best to return a more genuine one. Over the last twenty-four hours, he had come to the solid realization that while there were very few things that could put John Sheppard off-kilter, this current predicament was entirely placed in the category of 'things that could fuck with your head'.

He decided to start over, clean slate, and that meant mending bridges with the only other person in this mess with him.

"I'm sorry about last night," he started awkwardly, idly scratching his ear. "I probably could have been less… _blunt._"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, evidently surprised by the greeting. "Somehow, I don't take you as a man that apologizes often. Are you really sorry for anything you said last night?"

He paused. "The message?" John began, truthfully. "Not so much. The manner in which I ever-so-tactfully said it? Yes, I am. I was stressed–"

"Understandably stressed," Elizabeth cut in. "So you have nothing to apologize for. The truth is, I think I needed to hear what you had to say last night."

John adopted an appropriate look of surprise considering he thought he'd have to fight her tooth and nail for this one. "You did?" He quickly tried to cover it with more confidence. "I mean, of course you did. That's why I said it."

Her mouth twitched upwards, and John suddenly felt fairly see-through. "I agree with you that it's foolish to jeopardize the expedition if there isn't any way of ensuring their safety. If they have no chance of survival, no matter how much it pains me to think of this place lost forever, we're going to… we will have to close down the Gate."

"But?" John prodded, sensing more.

"But," Elizabeth added, that stubborn streak of optimism shining through. "I'm still not ready to call it quits. I spoke with Janus while you were getting your check-up. He said that if the delegation doesn't succeed in their negotiations with the Wraith, city-wide evacuation is imminent. We have weeks to figure out a way to save our people before that happens. Blocking the Stargate will be Plan B, put into effect only when I deem it necessary. I won't give up hope of another way until the moment I'm physically forced through that Stargate. Is that understood, Major?"

John started to rebut, then realized there was little of that he wanted to argue against. "Understood."

"Good." She nodded, self-satisfied. "Janus has arranged a tour for us today. He won't be able to give it himself – he's got more important issues to deal with, something about one of the ship's hyperspace systems?"

"Hyperspace system?" John repeated. "Ships? Like that one we used to get here?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Sorry, Major. He started talking in technical terms that lost me within the first sentence. Reminded me of Rodney when he's excited." She paused, immediately stricken at the thought of a man she knew far longer than John did, but she swallowed and resolutely moved on. "Anyway… I just know Janus is busy. He says he'll meet us for lunch, but until then, we're in the hands of…"

Melia appeared then, smiling serenely and looking better than any tour-guide John had ever seen.

* * *

The Gateroom hadn't changed much in 10,000 years… a little less dust and more of a state of constant energy as numerous people hurriedly moved in and out, or rushed up and down the grand staircase. On the upper level of the Control Room, John leaned his forearms against the railing and took a moment to appreciate the view. The momentous figure of the Stargate stood at the edge of the room below, holding his attention in the same way that the F-16 did the first time he laid eyes on it. It was a thing of beauty, and feeling the presence of Elizabeth beside him, equally captivated by the sight, he knew he wasn't the only one entranced.

"We currently have three teams off-world," Melia said. "In a regular week, it would be at least three times that, but with the threat of the Wraith looming over us, we had to scale back our off-world traveling to only essential missions. Mainly reconnaissance of the trajectory routes of various Wraith Hive Ships."

"Hive ships?" Elizabeth repeated.

Melia nodded. "The Wraith have a collective mind of consciousness. Their species has but one female to every four thousand males, and it is based on a largely matriarchal system of hierarchy."

"Really?" John said.

She turned towards him, smiling politely. "If you would like, I could set you up with an Information Processing Unit later today so that you may be able to learn more. It is a fairly strait-forward device with simple commands. It will provide you with many of the basics of our history and current anthropocentric issues."

"Yes," Elizabeth said, face lighting up with enthusiasm as she smiled. "That would be appreciated, Melia."

John nodded along, and turned back to face the Stargate. "What about your defenses? Of the Stargate? You don't want anybody unwanted knocking on your door, I imagine."

"Of course not, Major. We have plenty of preventative measures in place. The Stargate is protected with a force field that precludes any unwanted visitors from entering Atlantis."

"An Iris?" Elizabeth supplied.

Melia paused then nodded. "That is an apt name as any." She gestured towards the side exit. "If you'll come with me, I can show you to some of the other–"

A blaring alarm interrupted her words, and a moment later, the city-wide intercom came to life with words strangely familiar from the SGC. "In-coming wormhole."

John and Elizabeth exchanged curious glances a second before the Stargate whooshed to life and then settled into a stable event horizon that resembled shimmering blue water. John grinned. _Now that never got old._

Melia went over to the technician in charge of the dial commands and while she gave the order to lower the protective shield, John watched in rapt attention as a ship similar in design to the one he'd flown here emerged and stopped in the clearing in front of the Stargate. A portion of the solid metal surface vanished and a clear view into the cockpit appeared, exposing the man piloting the machine.

Melia voice trembled with alarm. "Merris, where is your team?"

The pilot shook his head before answering. "We were met with unexpected resistance from a group of Wraith that hid near the Stargate. By the time we detected their life-signs, we were ambushed and taken down. I barely managed to escape. My team…" he trailed off, and then his voice wavered in a tone of devastation that was all too familiar to John. "My team is dead."

* * *

The tour was cut short about half-an-hour after it began. Understandably, given that Melia had more pressing needs to deal with. The pilot emerged from the ship, his face so full of anguish and pain that John instantly flashed back to his time in Afghanistan. He'd seen that stark pale look of acceptance before. It was appropriately in that moment that the threat of the Wraith became more than just a theoretical one for John. He licked his lips, feeling tendrils of impending danger curl and knot in his stomach. He itched for something to do.

Melia had requested they return back to the infirmary, but given an odd sort of freedom in wandering that John was surprised to be trusted with, she didn't have anyone escort them back. Halfway through the route to the infirmary, John abruptly stopped walking.

Elizabeth turned back to face him when she noticed he wasn't walking beside her anymore. "Major?"

"I don't like this."

"No offense, Major, but I do believe that can be classified under the 'no-shit' category."

The unexpected dry humor, especially from her, made his lips twitch into a smirk before he turned serious again. "We need more information about the Wraith. I don't like being this clueless about a threat that's literally bearing down on us."

Elizabeth scrutinized him for a moment, nodded once and then stopped the first pedestrian passing by. A few words exchanged, and ever the helpful race – except when it came to saving the lives of his expedition, that is – and the man agreed to escort them to the nearest available Information Processing Unit. As they were lead down hallways that largely looked maze-like to John at this point, he turned to Elizabeth. "I've got a gut feeling we're going to see one of these Wraith before our time here is through."

Elizabeth glanced at him with thinly disguised anxiety. "What makes you think that?"

"Ever heard of Murphy's law?"

"Anything that can go wrong will go wrong?"

"We seem to be living proof, don't you think?"

They arrived at their destination before Elizabeth could reply. As their nameless escort quickly explained the instructions on how to use the Information Processing Unit, John just stared up at the thing with undisguised awe and bewilderment. "You know," he leaned close to Elizabeth. "When Melia said Information Processing Unit, I assumed it would be something like a PC or maybe a Mac."

"So had I," she agreed under her breath.

The Information Processing Unit was nearly as large as the room, however, covering from wall to wall and ceiling to floor. As a holographic matrix that created a virtual field to play in, Elizabeth and John stood in the center of a room that was adorned with the constant flickering colors of blue, green and red virtual boxes. Elizabeth cleared her throat, but before she could give the first command, a virtual representation of a woman appeared before them, serving as a guide.

"Hello," she greeted in a strangely artificial tone. "Welcome to IPU station four. How may I serve you?"

He licked his lips, wondering where to start and then decided to get straight to the point. "Tell us about the Wraith."

A 3-D image built itself up right before his eyes, patches of digital data in the colored boxes fabricating blocks upon blocks of the visual image. It was mere seconds later that John and Elizabeth come face to face with the projection of a Wraith, life-sized and animated. Dread-locks of grey hair framed a pale face that was almost too horrific for John to take seriously.

It was something he would have expected out of a sci-fi movie, but as the Guide began to detail intelligence about the Wraith – telepathic hive minds and methods of interrogation, remarkable regenerative mechanisms, technologically advanced, and a craving for human life – John and Elizabeth stared in horror, temporarily speechless.

* * *

Two hours later, they walked away from the IPU feeling appropriately alarmed. Having learned a great deal about the Wraith and the war currently waging between them and the Alterans – what the Ancients called themselves – John was beginning to see why their own situation was largely brushed aside as inconsequential to these people.

"We have to rethink our strategy," Elizabeth said, looking like her thoughts were running a mile a minute in the _opposite_ direction. "When we talk to the others, we have to frame our problem as one of their own. They've got issues to deal with now, yes, but we're talking about the future. Not just ours, but theirs. We need to emphasize that point if we expect to get help from them."

"I don't know. A time of war, people focus on the surviving the present. Ten thousands years into the future may as well be never to these people."

Elizabeth faced him with desperate eyes. "I know that, Major. But we have no other option. We're just going to have to appeal to their sense of duty to this City."

"That would be one way to go about it," Janus said, announcing his presence behind them. They turned to find him pale and exhausted, and about ready to fall off his feet. Before either of them could comment, however, Janus walked forward and began talking. "Unfortunately for you, Moros believes that preventing time-meddling is more important than anything else. Even Atlantis."

John exhaled hard. "And something tells me he's the big head honcho guy around here, right?"

Janus seemed confused by the reference for a moment, but then quickly moved on. "His weight with the Council is unparalleled. Only Melia holds any sway with him. But when he chooses to be stubborn about something, it's like battling with an animal." Janus shook his head, adding a self-deprecating smile. "I'm afraid his distaste for me and my work won't help the matter any. You both will suffer for that, I fear."

"It's alright, Janus," Elizabeth said, reaching out to touch his arm. "No one blames you for this. If it wasn't for your machine, John and I would have… we would have died with everyone else. We owe you."

Janus smiled at her, clearly appreciating the comforting words. "Still, I'm not held in the highest favor with the Council. I'm unsure if my weight and words backing you will be considered more of a hindrance than a help."

Elizabeth smiled. "We need all the allies we can get. More so, we could also use a friend."

Janus blushed, and for a second John wondered if the guy had a bit of a crush on the good doctor. He didn't have time to dwell on that, though, as they started moving through the corridors of Atlantis, apparently headed for lunch.

When they finally reached their destination, John discovered a mess hall that looked rather like every other cafeteria he had ever seen. It was oddly comforting that plastic chairs and wobbling tables were the universal way of serving the masses. The threesome made their way to the buffet line and John curiously peered at the display to see what was on the menu.

While they waited, John found himself examining items that were entirely too colorful for his preference. Synthetic cubes of some organic substance, he supposed, but they looked more like tasteless cardboard to him. John studied the suspect food with concealed distaste, but when Elizabeth gave him a sharp elbow jab to the ribs that told him to suck it up and behave, he realized his distaste must not have been as concealed as he thought.

Janus laughed. "Relax, Major. This is their pre-prepared state. You use the device at the end of the line to cook the cubes into their proper forms."

"Oh," John replied, meekly. "I knew that."

Elizabeth quirked an amused eyebrow as if to say: _sure you did._

Janus suggested they try the yellow cubes, and after experimentally poking one of them with a utensil, John finally settled on two cubes and went to place them in the device at the end of the line as Janus instructed. Elizabeth chose something blue. As they waited for the device to finish – whatever it was doing – Elizabeth asked about the delegation leaving tomorrow for the negotiations.

Janus cringed, finding the topic unsavory. "The Wraith have shown little mercy to our kind in the past. And while one-on-one, the Alterian ships are more powerful, the Wraith outnumber us five to one. We were able to stand up to them for some time, but our numbers are quickly dwindling. I fear the only options available in negotiating will be more on _their_ terms than ours."

"But will they at least listen to an agreement of truce?" The hope in Elizabeth's voice silently amazed John. Even now, she retained that spark of optimism he wasn't sure he _ever_ had.

Janus turned away. "Honestly, I'm not sure if we aren't sending that entire delegation to a bleak fate. The Wraith hold no value in keeping their word. We're sending some of our most advanced warships to protect the delegation, but… if the Wraith decide to be duplicitous again – which seems to be inherent in their very nature – there will be another bloody battle. One, I'm afraid, that may be the final blow to my peoples' hopes." His haunted eyes turned to them again. "Though your arrival is a blessing to me in more than one way, I am almost sorry you came. You're living proof that this City will be abandoned for thousands of years. Knowing that," he shook his head. "I suppose it's just a matter of time before we lose this war."

"Janus," Elizabeth started. "You can't think like that. There is always hope."

"Yeah," John added, trying Elizabeth's optimism on for size. "You don't know that you're going to lose this war any time soon."

Elizabeth turned to level him with a glare. "You don't know if they're going to lose the war _at all._" She turned back to Janus. "There are a thousand different reasons why your people may have chosen to leave this City behind. The chance to explore Earth, for instance? Just because we found the City abandoned ten thousand years from now, does not mean you're going to lose this war."

He had to hand it to Elizabeth; her optimism was unrelenting - and even slightly convincing, which was more than John ever expected it to be. He glanced at Janus and saw the pep talk had done something to marginally relieve the man's flailing hopes, when the food device suddenly pinged

John pulled out a dish of steaming hot food that smelled surprisingly mouth-watering and looked just as edible, even if he didn't know exactly what to call it.

* * *

The three of them separated after lunch. Janus went back to his work and Elizabeth headed back to the IPU for more information-gathering. John had already had enough information to sustain him a few nightmares, so he quietly begged off and said he was going to explore the City instead.

Halfway down a hallway, John realized that Elizabeth already knew the place better than he did. Before long, he was aimlessly wandering the corridors with no clue of his whereabouts. Too embarrassed to ask for directions, it was completely by accident that John stumbled onto the empty portion of the City that he immediately decided was his second favorite spot on Atlantis – directly above the Gateroom.

He stared in appreciative awe of the Docking Bay: a wide open space clearing the expanse of two football fields wide and three deep filled with the same bullet shaped ships as before. Up above, there were sheets of thick glass that gave a clear view to the ocean covering Atlantis over with a protective layer of water.

His breath nearly caught in his throat when he saw the faint outline of a massive creature crossing overhead. It was nothing but a shadow before the echo of a deep moan solidified the notion that John was staring at a real-life alien whale. It was the first alien creature he'd encountered. He easily ruled out the Wraith ship that shot them down when they first arrived here because, quite frankly, proper introductions were never made in that case and, besides, it was a ship… not a creature. So there.

The Whale gave another heartfelt groan before rising so far up in the ocean that its faint shadow disappeared into the dark waters, leaving John standing alone with nothing but his thoughts as company. No sooner had that thought entered his mind than he was proven wrong.

"They speak their own language, you know."

John turned to find a man standing behind him, covered from head to toe in grease and oil. He smiled, and wiped his hands on a dingy towel before walking over. John started to offer his hand for a handshake, before realizing that probably wasn't the customary greeting for the Ancients. He quickly stuck his hands in his pockets to cover for the action.

"You're that time-traveler from the future, right?"

John blinked. "You know, if I had a nickel every time I heard that one… I'd have about five cents." The man's smile faltered for a second and John had to remind himself to stop making references and jokes that no one except Elizabeth would get. "Sorry," John tried again. "Yeah, I'm that time-traveler. Prefer to be called John, though."

"Amishkalandris," the guy said.

"Bless you."

The man's face contorted with confusion. "No. That's my name. Amishkalandris."

"Oh," John flashed an embarrassed grin. "Of course, right. Nice to meet you, Amiskabla…_dru_?"

"Amishkalandris," the man corrected. "Amish-ka-land-dris."

John nodded, and tried his best smile. "How about I just call you Amish?"

He paused for a moment, obviously surprised by the request, but slowly nodded. "That seems reasonable."

John grinned, and then took note again of the state of mess Amish was in. "So," he rocked on his heels. "What machine did you make angry?"

It seemed confusing Amish was going to be John's specialty, but a moment later, he seemed to catch on. "Oh, this?" He gestured to the grease and oil covering him. "No, that's just a byproduct of working with the Gateships. A particularly mean-spirited one, at that."

"Gateships?" John repeated, feeling like a seven year-old with all the echoing he was doing today.

The man pointed over to the small group of ships of familiar design, situated in a corner of the large bay, a few in some form of disrepair. John was beginning to see the true beauty of the design – an odd oval shape in the front, ideal for gate travel, yet large enough to allow over half a dozen occupants. Far more Gateships – likely working ones – were stacked throughout the various coves that ran up along the side of one of the walls, and as John walked over to them, he couldn't help the appreciative whistle that escaped his lips.

Amish smiled. "You like spaceships?"

"You could say that."

"I don't know what type they have in the future, but these little ships are more intimidating than they look. Arsenal, camouflage, telemetry readouts of terrain and spatial topological features, life-signs detectors, and a whole lot of other gadgets to finish off a comprehensive system. We take a lot of pride in our Gateships here."

"Gateship, huh?" John quirked the side of his mouth. "No offense, Amish, but that's not a very cool name."

"What name would you prefer?" Amish said, motioning with his hands. "It's a ship, and it goes through the Gate. What would make more sense than that?"

John thought about it for a second, and then settled on: "Puddle Jumper." He grinned smugly and rocked on his heels.

Amish's brows creased in confusion even as amusement lit up his face. "The future must be an _interesting_ place."

"You have no idea, Amish. _No idea._"

* * *

John and Amish hit it off so well that the Alteran agreed to give John flying lessons as soon as he returned from his duties with the delegation trip. John held his pessimism in check and turned the talk back to the Gateships. While he already knew what handling one was like: mind-reading, crazy, combat flying, time-travel experience that it was; he still hoped for another chance at piloting one. Few things in life brought him as much joy as flying. It was as natural to him as breathing.

Eventually John found his way back to Elizabeth in the IPU room. She sat completely rigid in a chair while streams of information scrolled by slowly on a virtual screen in front of her. He didn't purposely sneak up on her; but when he touched her shoulder, Elizabeth nearly jumped three feet and let out a high-pitched, girly shriek that John found oddly endearing. He tried not to laugh. "Sorry." And failed miserably.

She glared, both hands clutching her heart. "You look it."

"Still studying?" John nodded toward the scrolling information.

"Yes, although I'm beginning to see the beauty of 'ignorance is bliss.' There's a lot of… disturbing information in there."

John picked up the reams of notes Elizabeth had written. "You don't mess around, do you? Planning on writing an essay?"

She cleared her throat. "No, I'm just preparing."

He glanced down at the notes again and saw the consumption rates of human lives each Wraith fed upon per year - _eww_ - and then looked back up at Elizabeth with curiosity. "Preparing for what exactly?"

She hesitated, and then took a deep breath, turning determined. "You were right. These people have their own problems to deal with first. And as long as that remains their number one priority, we should do everything we can here to help."

"Okay." John raised a brow. "Help how?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Elizabeth asked and John shook his head. "I'm a trained Negotiator, Major. There's a place for someone like me right now, and it's on the delegation."

For a moment, there was complete silence, and then John found that all words failed him except one: "No."

"It's not up for discussion–"

"Like hell it's not!" John interrupted, incredulous. "You can't honestly expect to go on the delegation–"

Elizabeth snatched the ream of notes from his hands. "I spoke with Melia already. It's finalized. I leave in the morning with the rest of the delegates."

"You are completely insane!" He hated that his voice rose, but there was little chance of containing it now. "Did you not hear Janus earlier today? The delegation could be walking into a death trap."

Elizabeth sighed, apparently having expected the outburst. John briefly reflected on the fact that she had gotten absurdly good at reading him in a scant matter of days, when he still had no clue on how to read her. She seemed to have been bracing herself for a confrontation, and John certainly didn't plan to disappoint. There were bad ideas, and then there were _bad_ ideas. This one was by far the biggest clusterfuck he'd ever heard of.

Determined green eyes locked onto his hazel ones. "I appreciate your concern, but sitting around here and doing nothing–"

"What happened to figuring a way to help our people?" John rebutted. "Did you just decide to give up and forget about them?"

Elizabeth's eyes blazed with righteous indignation. "Of course not, Major! My number one priority will always be to our people, but right now, this seems like the right thing to do. Which, by the way, might improve our standings with the Ancients. If they see our willingness to help them, they might be more willing to help _us._"

"Help them how?" John demanded. "I'm sure they've got negotiators of their own."

"None of them experienced," Elizabeth said firmly. "I've already spoken to Melia about it, remember? They can't spare anyone from the higher chains of command to do this negotiation because… well, truthfully, there's the fear that the Wraith will try to extract sensitive information from them."

"You mean torture and interrogate?" John asked coldly.

She didn't respond.

"What about the knowledge that you have?" John continued. "Knowledge of the future and Earth? What happens if the Wraith decide to "extract sensitive information" from you?"

"Any information I have is for ten thousand years into the future," Elizabeth replied. "You said so yourself - a time of war, people focus on surviving the present. Ten thousands years into the future may as well be never to these people – I believe those were your _exact_ words."

John hated having his words thrown back at him. "You can't seriously think this is a good idea!"

"Calm down, Major," Elizabeth said, closing the door to avoid any eavesdropping.

At the moment, John didn't particularly care if the entire City heard this. She turned back to him, annoyingly calm. "The delegation cannot afford to spare any of the higher ups, so they're sending in novices to deliberate the most important treaty in the history of this galaxy. Some of these Ancients have never even participated in the most basic treaty negotiations. They have no concepts of tactics and bartering techniques. They're placing all their chips on this, and they're flying blind!"

Ignoring the fact that she mixed metaphors - which he always hated - John pushed through with his point. "Elizabeth." It was the first time he'd actually used her first name out loud and he could tell she was struck by it. That was why he did it. "I understand your desire to help, but you're just a novice at this as much as the rest of them."

She raised an eyebrow. "I've negotiated dozens of treaties with militant countries and dictators that made–"

John threw his arms up in exasperation. "When was the last time those dictators decided to _eat_ their enemies?"

"Major, the decision has already been made."

"_Unmake_ it."

"There's just no talking to you when you're like this. I'm in charge, remember? I'm the leader–"

"No," John cut in. "You _were_ the leader of an expedition. That expedition is _dead!_" She paled two shades before John felt instant regret at the words. He swallowed hard, and then quickly tried to backtrack. "That's not what I meant to say–"

"Yes, it is," Elizabeth said in a low, almost hollow voice. "Don't be disingenuous, Major. It doesn't suit you."

Feeling like a cold bucket of water had been dumped over his head, his temper immediately cooled and left behind a more levelheaded John. He licked his lips and tried to figure out a way to convince her that this idea was just all types of bad. In the end, he kept coming back to one thing. "It's too dangerous, Elizabeth. You're going to get killed."

She turned away, breathing in once deeply before facing him again. "I know it's dangerous… Which is why you're not coming with me."

John paused for a second, sure he heard wrong. "What?"

"The level of danger inherent in this delegation is high," Elizabeth nodded. "I'm not delusional. I know that. I fully acknowledge the fact that I may… that I may not survive this–"

"Elizabeth–"

"Which is why you can't come along," she finished. "We need one of us to remain behind and complete our main objective – to save our people, one way or another – and it's too dangerous for both of us to risk the–"

"No," John didn't waver. "No way in hell. You go on the delegation, then I'm coming with you."

"Why?"

"To protect you," he pointed out. "My job, remember?"

"There will be others there to protect me," she countered. "You heard Janus. They're sending their best warships to escort the delegation. I appreciate your skill with a gun, but you can't do anything a warship can't, Major."

"That may be," John spat. "But I'm still coming with you."

The bundle of papers slipped from Elizabeth's hands, sending loose leafs of yellow tinged paper cascading across the floor. She stared down at them and sighed. As she bent down to gather them up, she stopped for a moment, wavering. She looked up at John, but this time there wasn't a hint of resolution in her eyes, just naked desperation.

"I know I'm not your boss, anymore. I know I can't order you to do anything. But this is bigger than you and me. I need to do something, anything I can to help. But I can't do that knowing that I could be sacrificing the lives of our expedition members in the process. I need to know they've got a shot." She stood up, papers forgotten. "I need to know they've got you fighting for them."

John looked her in the eyes. "We can fight for them together."

"Are you willing to risk everything for that?"

He felt his motivation to fight starting to slip away. "What makes you think I can even save them? We have no plans. No way–"

"I believe in you, John," Elizabeth said firmly, turning his first name tactic against him. "I trust you. You'll find a way."

He just stared at her, wondering what made her so confident in his abilities when he had no faith in his own. He hated the idea of sending Elizabeth on what was most likely a fatal mission, but even as his mind raced to come up with other reasons to tie her here, he could see that she'd already made up her mind. She must have seen the reluctant acceptance appear on his face, because she smiled faintly and her fingers brushed against his for a moment, loosely grabbing hold in reassurance.

"This is for the best," she said.

John knew better.

* * *

They were escorted to their new living quarters about a half mile away from both the Gateroom and the infirmary. The person guiding them was a wispy young woman no older than seventeen named Alana. She was incredibly shy and timid, and while normally John would have gone out of his way to at least get a smile out of her to ease her anxiousness around them, right then, he couldn't bring himself to work up the effort. They marched towards their destination in silence, a particularly pregnant hush falling between John and Elizabeth that neither knew how to bridge.

Alana turned around, head tilted down in embarrassment. "Forgive the impropriety of this question, but would you be requiring one room or two for the night?"

John paused, absentminded for a second before realization sunk in. Before he could recover with an answer, Elizabeth did, marginally less fazed by the question. "Uh, no Alana. We need two… two rooms."

She nodded meekly, and turned to lead them down the last corridor where two doors adjacent to one another stood. "I hope these accommodations are appropriate. I have been given the task of tending to your stay. If you need anything at all, please to do not hesitate to ask."

John forced a smile. "We'll be fine, thanks."

Alana nodded again, opened both doors with quick swipes of her hand over the control panels, and then smiled at them before leaving. John and Elizabeth were left standing in the corridor, and when Elizabeth turned to say goodnight, John found himself fumbling for words to keep her in the hallway for just moment more.

"What time will you be leaving in the morning?"

"Alana will wake me up in about five hours. You wanna see me off?"

John was surprised she even had to ask. "Yeah, of course."

Elizabeth nodded, awkwardly lingering outside with him. "Well, okay then. I'll see you in the morning."

"The morning," John agreed, and watched as she entered her room and closed the door behind her.

He wondered if he was imagining the reluctance he'd seen etched in her demeanor, a sort of hesitation in her step that he couldn't put a name to. He lingered outside her room for a moment, indecisive in what to do or what he really wanted, before sighing in frustration and entering the room next to hers.

The door closed. The room that greeted him was tastefully Spartan in furnishing. A large king-size bed occupied the majority of the space and a few chairs and one small table sat in the opposite end of the room. He glanced towards the window, finding the view of the dark ocean now becoming a soothingly familiar sight.

John scrubbed a hand over his weary face, feeling exhausted and spent. He absently glanced around before deciding to use the bathroom – one that was far more polished and refined than most of the eating joints he'd ever been to in his life. He took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, changed into boxer shorts and off-white pajama bottoms (didn't these people wear color?) and climbed into bed feeling exhausted enough to fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

He laid awake instead, tossing and turning for the next few hours.

He couldn't stop thinking about the day ahead. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind obsessed over the fact that Elizabeth would be leaving tomorrow, headed strait into the heart of a war that had the Ancients tucking their tails between their legs. The instinctual gut feeling that it was all going to go wrong on an epic scale played on his conscience and tied tight coils of anxiety in his gut. This could only end badly. He knew it. Yet, he also knew there was little he could do to prevent it. Elizabeth had made up her mind, and as frail and vulnerable as she looked when he imagined her standing amongst a group of Wraith, he knew her resolve on this matter could not be changed.

In the last twenty-four hours, he'd fought with her twice. The first argument he'd won, and the second she did. This give and take dynamic they had going still didn't convince him they could see eye to eye on much of anything besides the safety of their people. He wanted to shake some sense into her, and at the same time, he also knew some of her points were too valid to ignore. It was exasperating and he wanted nothing more than to shut off his brain and ignore everything, something he'd excelled at in his other life.

But this time it wasn't working. This time, he couldn't ignore the voice inside his head prodding him to take action. The more he tried to convince himself that everything was out of his control, the more resistant to the notion he became.

He had no idea why the safety of Elizabeth was becoming tantamount to his number one priority over everything else, but he couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling that he _had_ to protect her. Maybe he couldn't handle the idea of another death of one of his people or maybe he just didn't want to carry on as literally the last of their kind. But whatever the reason, he couldn't shake the cold sweat that gripped him when he thought – no, he knew – that Elizabeth was walking headfirst into grave danger tomorrow.

_That's it!_ He tossed off his covers and climbed out of bed, barefoot and shirtless, and crossed the hall to knock on her door. It was about two hours before she was scheduled to wake up, and while under normal circumstances, he would have assumed she'd be fast asleep, he doubted that was the case tonight. He rapped harder, and then heard a vague muffled response that he assumed was permission to enter, so he did.

Elizabeth was reaching for a robe to hide the thin white (and nearly see through) nightshirt that barely covered her up to her thighs. He froze at the sight it presented.

"John!" Elizabeth shrieked, making a faster grab for the robe. Instead of wearing it, she clutched it to her body, futilely trying to cover up patches of skin. "I said _one minute!_" she growled.

John cleared his throat and slid his gaze to the floor, but he had the gut feeling that the image of her long, toned and very naked legs was not something he was going to forget anytime soon. "Sorry," he muttered, this time meaning it.

He heard some rustle of clothing, and then he heard her awkwardly clear her throat. "You can look up now." He glanced up to find Elizabeth wrapped in a thick white robe wearing an expression of utter exasperation on her face. It almost covered for the tinge of red that colored her neck and cheeks. "What are you doing here?"

He licked his lips, at a loss for words when a moment ago he'd been bursting at the seams to talk with her. "Good question," he said, feigning a friendly conversational tone.

She rolled her eyes, though she lacked any genuine annoyance in her demeanor. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Couldn't stop thinking," John corrected, immediately remembering why he came here. "We need to talk."

"Yeah. I suppose we do."


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, John geared up to go on the delegation with Elizabeth.

Much of the previous night had been spent arguing; each with their own valid points, but in the end, just as John couldn't change Elizabeth's mind, neither could she change his. He was going along. It wasn't his ideal choice, but he'd take it over not going along at all - not with Elizabeth already signed up to ship out.

It was a tiring debate and neither one of them got a wink of sleep, and a few hours of shuteye in their own rooms could have done both of them a lot of good. Especially when Alana knocked on Elizabeth's door only to blush extensively when John opened the door all bare foot and shirtless. He quickly retreated back to his room, feeling oddly like a teenager caught necking.

He showered and changed into another bland version of the customary off-white uniform, and then emerged just as Elizabeth was exiting her own room. Instead of the customary white outfit, though, she wore a sleeveless pale green dress. He gave her a curious look.

"Green represents the color of peace in the Pegasus Galaxy," Elizabeth explained. "All the negotiators on the delegation are wearing similar garbs of color."

It wasn't his idea of dressing appropriately for a meeting with life-sucking aliens, but John had to admit, it was a lot more flattering to her figure than the white dress. Nice curves, he noted idly. He cleared his throat, and feeling oddly chivalrous, offered his arm for her in a gentlemanly gesture.

"My Lady," he adopted a teasing tone.

She hit him hard in the arm, eliciting a yelp, and quickly started down the corridor without him. John grinned, then rushed to catch up with her.

Alana met them halfway down the corridor, slightly blushing every time her gaze connected with his while she guided them towards the departure area in the docking bay. Elizabeth just looked amused at this, and more than once, John found himself exasperated by the two women he was sandwiched between, one blushing and the other surpressing a smirk.

When they finally arrived, John was relieved to release Alana from her babysitting duties, but then his eyes caught sight of something else entirely and widened in surprise. The large wide open space he had just visited yesterday was now filled with a gigantic spaceship, settled into the center of the bay and being loaded with passengers and supplies.

Amish spotted him and called out. "John!" He joined the time-travelers. "I didn't know you were going on the delegation trip as well?"

John was too busy gazing up at the ship in front of him to respond, and was vaguely aware that Elizabeth answered for him. He walked beyond the company of his group, and eyed the large angular shaped vessel with appreciation. It was a solid white, tube-like structure, with various add-ons attached to the main body that functioned as accessory ports. It must have been large enough to easily hold three – maybe four – hundred people.

"That," John kept his tone light, "is _not_ a Gateship."

"No, my friend," Amish agreed, smugly. "That is the Aurora."

* * *

The Captain of Aurora was an older man named Loren, possibly in his mid-fifties, with short white hair and a wizened look of experience in his bright blue eyes. He carried himself with dignity and poise, and greeted John and Elizabeth with a warm-welcomed hospitality that had just a touch of wry humor to it. As they walked along the corridors of the ship, the captain pointed out various sections, taking obvious pride in the beauty and design. John had to admit, the pride was well placed.

"Captain," a woman called from behind them, and everybody turned toward a young attractive woman with long wavy blond hair approaching, "The last of the passengers are onboard."

He nodded, then made introductions. "Dr. Weir, Major Sheppard, this is my First Officer, Trebal."

John glanced over her once, liking what he saw, and then flashed his best smile - the one with the dimples. "Hi."

She barely gave a glance in his direction. "Dr. Weir, I understand you are joining the delegation."

"That's right. I was a last minute addition."

"Melia informed me of this," Trebal said. "She's charged me with the task of supplying you with any materials or sources of research you feel you may need. Please, if you have any questions or concerns, do not hesitate to come find me."

Elizabeth smiled, appreciatively. "Thank you, Trebal. That would certainly be helpful."

"We have a three day journey before we reach our destination," Trebal added. "Hopefully that will be enough time for you to feel comfortable enough with this material."

The Captain smiled. "I've informed Trebal of your… unique situation and background. While I trust her, I would advise against telling too many other people any specifics of your time-traveling. In fact, perhaps it is best if you simply assume the identity of Atlantians. If word got out that you are from the future, I fear it could cause… concerns among my crew and the delegates."

John exchanged a quick glance with Elizabeth before turning back to the Captain. "Sounds like a good idea to me."

Trebal nodded, and despite John's desire to catch her eye, she turned and left without so much as a nod in his direction. Captain Loren soon followed, and John and Elizabeth were once again left alone in the middle of unfamiliar territory. John was almost getting use to that.

He cocked his head to the side. "You think they'll let me check out the engine room?"

He caught sight of Elizabeth's eye roll before she turned around.

* * *

The first day, John spent his time wandering the ship generally making a nuisance of himself. He explored the bowels, made friendly with the crew and managed to get in a game of the Ancients' version of chess with Captain Loren. Trebal continued to ignore him whenever he got within five feet of her, and while he had no idea what he did to precipitate such a response, John's ego eventually decided he could do better anyway.

Elizabeth spent the entire time locked in her room going over reams of information about the Wraith and submerging herself in the history and culture of the Ancients. When John brought her lunch – practically forcing her to pause long enough to eat – she spent the entire time jumping from one topic to another with an enthusiasm he hadn't seen from her since Antarctica.

While he listened to the narration of her progress, he was strangly captivated by one strand of her curly dark hair that incessantly fell against her cheek, and how she constantly brushed it behind her ear. Oddly entranced, he almost missed entirely what she was talking about.

"This is what we came here for," Elizabeth said excitedly, motioning to the pages of information strewn across the bed in her chambers. "All this information. All this knowledge. We traveled through millions of miles and thousands of years to discover this, and it's literally at my fingertips right now." She looked up at him, eyes clouded with wonder and grinning with enthusiasm. "The cure for cancer is probably somewhere in here. Their level of medicine is so far advance, I have trouble distinguishing it from magic."

John smirked, barely holding in his amusement at her exuberance. She caught on to it. "What?"

"Nothing," John adopted a teasing voice. "It's just the words 'kid' and 'candy-store' keep coming to mind."

Elizabeth smirked back, unflinching in her excitement. "Maybe. It's just… If we could get this back to Earth… our Earth. Our time. The Goa'uld. The Replicators. Famine. Plague. The Ancients would know how to deal with them. It looks as though the only problem they can't handle is…" she trailed off, her expression sour, "is war with the Wraith."

John's smirk melted away. He plopped his feet up on her bed, casually leaning back. "By the way, how do you plan on negotiating with life-sucking aliens, anyway? What are the terms of any treaty that both sides could agree to?"

Elizabeth grew serious. "It's tricky, and it won't be easy, but I'm hoping to barter the Ancients' technology for the Wraith's assurances to switch to livestock as their singular source of food."

"We _are_ livestock to them."

"I mean domesticated animals that the Ancients use for their own food," Elizabeth informed him. "Basically, I'm hoping to suggest the Wraith switch their menu to the Pegasus version of a cow. Nourishment-wise, it offers only half the sustenance to a Wraith as a human would… but the food source is there. Plentiful even. I'm hoping they'll see the rationale in changing their appetites, and agree to cease feeding on humans."

John couldn't fight the pessimism. "From what I hear, that's quite a lot for you to ask of them."

"The Ancients have plenty to offer as well," Elizabeth added. "The Wraith are powerful and numerous, but their level of technology is nowhere near that of the Ancients. A trade for technology might be the only thing the Wraith would be interested in. Besides, the thought of endless warfare might not be their idea of fun."

"And what happens when the Wraith get all the technology they want?" John cocked his head smugly. "What then? They won't have a need for the Ancients anymore, and it'll be open-hunting season all over again."

"We're trying to stave off an apocalypse, Major," Elizabeth said, slightly annoyed. "We're working with what we're given. If you have better terms for a treaty, please, let me hear them."

John raised his hands in surrender, realizing he'd hit a nerve. "Alright, fine, it was just a simple question." That went straight to the heart of the matter, but by no means was he going to continue harassing her about it.

Elizabeth reined in her aggravation. "I know. And it's a valid one too, but I honestly don't know how to answer it. We could be just delaying the inevitable. The information in these briefing notes, the stories I've heard from Janus and Trebal… I simply don't know how the Ancients can win this war. It's this treaty, or… the Ancients will leave and never come back. Can you imagine what will happen to the local human population without the protection of the Ancients? The Wraith could wipe out all of humanity in this galaxy."

The dejection in her voice didn't suit her, and John found himself searching his memory to recover something that seemed oddly appropriate as a response. He smiled, and quoted. "'When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love has always won. There have been tyrants and murderers and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall. Think of it. Always.'"

Elizabeth quirked her eyebrow, impressed. "Mahatma Ghandi?"

John smiled. "How did I know you'd know that quote?"

"What surprises me is that you do." Elizabeth sipped her drink. "Wouldn't think the military would be big on teaching their troops about non-violent resistance."

"Surprisingly," John said. "When I was stationed in McMurdo, biographies about skinny Indian men were actually more popular than Playboys." He shrugged. "Go figure."

Elizabeth laughed, and then leaned forward to knock his feet off the bed. "Alright, I have to get back to work now."

John sighed dramatically. "All work and no play make Elizabeth a dull girl."

She rolled her eyes, kicking him out of her room. Trebal happened to be walking by at exactly the moment he stumbled out of the door and cast him a particularly offended look. She walked away just before Elizabeth smiled innocently at him before closing the door in his face.

John wondered when his infamous charm with women had started to wear off.

* * *

The next day was full of activity that provided both of them with their own respective distractions. While Elizabeth gathered with the other delegates for the first of a two-day conference, John managed to cajole Amish into letting him tinker with the Gateships onboard the Aurora.

It wasn't the same as flying, but John took what he could get. Besides, the thought of wandering aimlessly for another day onboard made him feel a little too restless for his own good. He mostly just stood back and asked Amish a lot of questions while the ever-proficient mechanic monkeyed around with the various parts and tools. When the questions became too much, and as planned, annoyed Amish to the point of surrender, John managed to get a couple of hours of hands-on work in himself.

After a few hours of maintenance, though, Amish pulled John aside for something he said was probably more up his area of expertise. He led John down to the opposite end of Aurora, and brought him into a large space that was designated a training room. Amish opened up a locked cabinet secured with a biometric scanner and stepped back to allow John a better view.

"Weaponry," Amish announced, grinning as John got an eyeful of numerous guns of various sizes and calibers. Amish's voice turned cynical. "Should the Wraith turn… unfriendly during the peace-talks, I suspect you might want to be familiar with our models."

John nodded, eyes rooming over the guns in critique. The more stories he heard from the crew of Aurora about the duplicitous nature of the Wraith, the more inevitable he found the use of these guns likely to be. Every single person he'd spoken to so far had lost a relative or a loved one to the Wraith. Amish had lost a brother, Captain Loren had lost a daughter, and rumor even had it that Trebal had lost her fiancé recently. Every person he asked and every story he'd heard so far was tinged with a type of sorrow that cut John to the bone.

He'd seen war-ravaged countries before – the nightmares of Afghanistan still haunted him, as did the faces of the children living in destitute there – so he knew firsthand the losses of warfare. Still, the notion of an entire galaxy worth of people suffering from a single threat didn't make any type of sense that John could understand. He paid all the more attention to his weapons training because of it.

Amish proved to be as knowledgeable and proficient in handling weapons as he was in handling Gateships. After a series of demonstrations of various guns and stunners, John saw his newest friend in fresh light. Amish was a soldier, and John chided himself on not recognizing the signs earlier.

Amish frowned when John brought up the topic. "I wasn't gifted with brains." He shrugged. "So I had to find talents in other areas."

John nodded, knowing the feeling. He may have qualified for Mensa, but he never particularly felt like the smart kid in class. It just wasn't him. He turned back to poster in front of him, and then pulled the trigger on what he liked to think of as a 'canon-blaster' and neatly blew away his target with little residue or remainder left behind. He eyed the weapon in his hand, and tried not to look like he was in love.

"You're a quick learner."

John shrugged. "Oh, you know. Point, shoot, and run. That's my motto. I'm good at my motto."

"My advice?" Amish started. "Empty the entire clip before you run. Wraith are annoyingly hard to kill."

"Ever kill one?"

Amish paused, and a certain hardness settled into his eyes. "One," he said, reloading his weapon. "Just one."

By the tone, John knew the Wraith Amish had killed had been the same one that had killed his brother. The man looked ahead, aimed his gun, and hit the mark with an accuracy that even John envied. John turned back to his own target and tried to lighten the mood by making idle conversation. Unfortunately, it did little to ease the darkness that had settled over his friend, and the longer they remained in the practice room, the quieter Amish got. When their session was finally finished, Amish held back to clear up the mess, insisting that he do it alone. John nodded and left, realizing the other soldier needed time to himself.

John ran into Trebal – literally – on his way out of the training room. Knocking headfirst into her, they both splayed across the floor before either one of them had even realized what had happened. Even when he offered a hand to help her up, apologizing while he did so, Trebal glared up at him in offense and pushed herself off the floor. Her attitude was starting to grate.

"What is your problem?" John demanded.

She glanced at him, utter annoyance fixed rigidly on her face as her hands hit her hips. "Excuse me?"

"You obviously have a bug stuck up your ass," John folded his arms and looked down on her. "At least when it comes to me. I'm wondering if I did anything specific to piss you off, or if this is just the general welcome you give to all the newcomers onboard the Aurora."

She sneered. "No, I happen to like Dr. Weir. I just have this standard of – oh, what was it – oh, yes, _intelligence._ I expect people to have some."

"You don't even know me!"

"I know your type," she scoffed, brushing past him.

John stalked after her along the corridor. "Just out of curiosity, were you born this way or was common decency sucked out of you as a child?"

She stopped, turned, and glared. "Just out of curiosity," she retorted, ever so maturely. "Were you born with that hair, or was it a byproduct of one too many spins through the Stargate?"

He huffed, "I'll have you know, I've only gone through the Stargate once!"

She rolled her eyes. "Clearly, permanent damage was done." She stomped away, but John decided not to follow her this time, mainly because he couldn't think of a retort good enough to satisfy his standards. But it was coming – oh, was it coming!

He walked in the opposite direction and quickly spotted a smirking Amish at the opposite end of the corridor. John stopped; his glare promising pain if Amish said one word. Amish was not easily intimidated. "You just have a way with women, don't you?"

Oddly, John pictured Elizabeth in that moment, and couldn't think of a satisfactory response to that one either.

* * *

It was near dinnertime that John swung by Elizabeth's chambers to see if she had returned from the conference. Knocking softly on the door, he heard a vague muffled response, but this time being more cautious than the last time, he uttered a "What was that?" through the door and made her repeat it.

He heard the amusement in her voice. "Come in!"

He edged the door open, timidly peeking through the sliver to see if it was actually safe to venture inside. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and waved him fully in. She sat on her bed, in the middle of a sea of paperwork. John closed the door behind him, and the first thing that grabbed his attention was Elizabeth's obvious state of exhaustion. She looked pale and wrung out: eyes marred with dark circles, cheeks slightly sunken as if she hadn't gotten any sleep for days and it was finally catching up with her.

He'd had nothing but nightmare-filled sleep every time he shut his eyes and he wouldn't have been surprised if Elizabeth was avoiding sleep rather than deal with the same. He was willing to bet she'd never lost anyone before, much less a group of people as important to her as the expedition. And while she seemed to be handling the situation better than he expected any civilian to – hell, _anybody_ to – suppressing that amount of grief had to take its toll. No matter if they traveled through time again, _their_ people still remained dead. The comfort that they were going to save other lives was, in many ways, a cold comfort.

John dealt by diving into physical activity and exerting himself into exhaustion each night. He imagined Elizabeth was doing something similiar. It wasn't healthy, but he couldn't argue with its merits either.

"The conference went better than I expected," Elizabeth said before he could ask. "I'll say this for the Ancients – they're quick learners. If only my Georgetown students had been this bright."

John raised an eyebrow. "You were a professor?"

She shrugged, absentmindedly waving off the remark with a wave of her hand. She gestured for John to sit on the vacant chair beside her bed as she started to clear up the chaotic mess of papers that littered her room. He imagined, normally, she was probably a neat and organized person. The state of the room now looked more like something he would live in, but not her.

He kept his tone casual. "Feeling more confident about the treaty now?"

"Yes." But there was a hint of doubt in her voice that John picked up. "I'm feeling a lot more optimistic than before. They really are insanely intelligent people."

"But?" he prodded.

She paused for a moment and then her shoulders sagged and the facade gave way entirely. "But you can't learn the ins and outs of international politics, much less _interspecies_ politics, in a day, no matter how smart you are. I don't think anybody on this delegation is even remotely prepared for this, especially me."

"You're too stressed out," John said. "Pull back a little and clear your head. You continue like this and I'm gonna have a stroke just watching you."

She shook her head. "I wish I could, but I have to head back out there for dinner with the other delegates. Wanna join me?"

"No." She raised an eyebrow at the abrupt dismissal, and he clarified. "I'm not going, because you're not going. You need to get your head out of the game for a while. I'm canceling your plans for you."

Elizabeth voice turned incredulous. "Are you grounding me?"

John smiled. "Yep, and don't you dare try to sneak out that window, missy. For one, there's no atmosphere outside."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Call me missy again, even as a joke, and I'll–"

A knock at the door interrupted her threat before it could get interesting, and John smirked in victory as he turned to open the door. An elderly man wearing what looked like green scrubs – another one of the delegates, John assumed – stood in the doorway. John opened the door wider, and Elizabeth immediately recognized the man.

"Foril?" She slid off her bed to greet him. "What are you doing here?"

Foril smiled pleasantly. "I was hoping to escort you to dinner, Dr. Weir." He glanced at John, taking in his appearance quickly. "Will your husband be joining us?"

Elizabeth recovered the ability to speak before John did. "Uh, no. Foril. This is Major John Sheppard, my… colleague."

The description sounded incredibly inaccurate to John's ears, especially given everything they'd been through. But he smiled casually and exchanged greetings before Elizabeth explained that she was canceling her attendance to the dinner for some much needed rest instead.

Foril nodded with a furtive glance towards John, before smiling again. "I'll send someone to bring down food to these chambers so you don't have to run out yourselves."

"That would be appreciated," Elizabeth said. "Thank you."

Foril nodded and left without another word.

John closed the door. Elizabeth went back to her bed, one hand massaging the kinks out of her neck. Shaking his head, John reached over and placed a gentle hand on the tense muscles of her neck. He started kneading the tight spot and a small faint moan escaped her lips instantly without any preamble protest whatsoever. John tried not to focus on the husky undertone she took when she muttered her gratitude to him. Instead, he guided her to the chair where she sat down and became instant putty under his ministrations for the next few minutes.

A knock at the door roused both of them from the quiet time of relaxation. When John opened the door he found a tray full of food waiting in the hallway. No one was in sight. He shrugged, commenting on the great room service, and then brought the food in. Elizabeth cleared the table and together they ate in comfortable silence. A few minutes after they started to eat, though, an unexpected yawn overtook John and he turned just in time to catch Elizabeth doing the same.

She rubbed a hand over her eyes. "I'm going to call it a night," she whispered, her voice laced with thick grogginess.

John watched as she stumbled out of her chair, nearly tripping in the process, and staggered over to the bed. A moment before she crawled across the bed and collapsed gracelessly onto it, John noticed that he, too, was feeling an exorbitant amount of exhaustion. He forced himself to stand, and felt a vague sense of alarm when the room spun circles around him in disorientation. He stumbled to the side, nearly crashing into the furniture, and slowly caught the edge of the bed as support.

"Something's wrong," he mumbled, then glanced at the food as instant realization dawned on him, even through the fogginess. "Elizabeth," he called, turning towards her.

She was already asleep, and struggling against the intense urge to follow her into deep slumber, he tried to shake her awake. The effort took too much, and he collapsed next to her on the bed instead, his body unwilling to cooperate with his demands. He spotted the communication device, the one housed in every chamber, on the table that stood at the opposite end of the bed on the other side of Elizabeth. Even as his vision blurred and ebbed away, he reached across Elizabeth to get to it. Fumbling with uncoordinated fingers, he activated the device and vaguely heard a voice on the other end.

His arm dropped, exhaustion overtaking him, right across Elizabeth's body. She moved in her sleep, unconsciously shifting closer to him, and even as the warmth of this action lulled his senses further, John forced all his concentration into uttering four words.

"_Drugged._ We've been drugged."


	4. Chapter 4

He woke up in Aurora's med lab fighting off a dizzying headache from the instant his eyes opened. Noise from the medical equipment grated too loudly in his ears while color flashed and white spots danced across his vision. For a moment, John felt like he'd been bludgeoned over the head. Repeatedly and with offense. It hurt to move, but he tried anyway, defiantly sitting up. After a guttural moan escaped his lips, he felt feminine hands push him back down. He opened his eyes, expecting and hoping to see Elizabeth. He was surprised to find Trebal instead.

"Lay back down," she ordered in a no-nonsense tone. "You've been drugged, Major Sheppard. You're lucky to be alive."

John swallowed, then croaked. "Elizabeth?"

For the first time since he'd met her, Trebal's face actually softened – and he didn't like what that boded. "She's recovering in an isolation ward. Her condition is more… complicated than yours."

John's eyes narrowed. "Complicated how?"

Trebal paused. "I'll be blunt – it's what I do best." She pulled back, folding her arms across her chest. "Dr. Weir is currently slumbering in a coma. If she doesn't pull through within the next day… she'll die."

* * *

John managed to keep a tight rein on his emotions through sheer will power. Even while the Healers came and went, checking his vitals and asking after his well being, John simply nodded and went through the motions with a dry wit that had become second skin to him. It didn't last long, however.

The Healers told him that Elizabeth's condition was far worse than his for only one reason – she had no claim to any Ancient genes. Apparently, the poison they were slipped was a synthetic drug called Cronisalia, which targeted only humans. The drug had no effect whatsoever on those with the Ancient/Alterian bloodline. And although the genetic makeup of John was vastly different to those of the Ancients, the ATA gene he did possess apparently made him immune enough to make a difference.

Elizabeth was not gifted with a similar fate. Without immediate aggressive intervention with a series of Alterian medications, she would succumb to the full effects of the drug within the next day. He was told that although his resourcefulness with the communication device moments before he passed out had ultimately allowed the Healers enough time to quickly work on Elizabeth's recovery, they hadn't been able to do enough. Her heart had apparently stopped twice in the last twelve hours. The thought terrified him and kept him awake for any more news even through his own bone-weary exhaustion. Medication and sickness coupled to overwhelm him, but John stubbornly stayed awake.

He wasn't allowed to visit Elizabeth in the isolation ward, but his mind remained singularly focused. Hours passed and the lack of news whatsoever started to rip into him and pull him apart from the inside. He'd lost everything and everybody else. He wasn't sure how much more he could stand to lose.

The nurses had to order him back to bed more than once when he tried to force his way to the isolation wards. While his strength slowly returned, he proved weak enough to be manhandled back into bed by women nearly half his size. But what they lacked in height, they made up in meanness. Trebal facilitated the cruel and unusual punishment by keeping herself close to John – quiet enough to be unobtrusive while still letting him know she wasn't going to put up with any of his crap. She'd catch his gaze the moment he'd move even a finger, and silently dare him with threatening eyes to try anything.

The first three times he'd taken up the challenge, he'd ended up face first on the floor. The first time, he'd fallen. The last two times, she'd taken him down.

"You don't have to babysit me," John bit out, glaring from his bed. "I'm sure the Captain could use his First Officer on more pressing issues."

From her perch near the door, Trebal slid her eyes towards him for only a second before looking away again. "The Captain is the one who ordered me here. For your protection. I'm to make sure no one else tries to eliminate you."

A plethora of obscenities came to mind. John kept them to himself. "Have they got any suspects? Any idea who slipped us the drugs?"

"Our original suspect was Foril," Trebal replied. "But we have no solid proof or even secondary proof to support that supposition. I'm afraid that without knowing why you and Dr. Weir were targeted in the first place, our investigation will stall."

She looked away, shifting in her position just a little – the movement gave off a slight sense of awkwardness that didn't match her usual demeanor. John picked up on the tell immediately and pounced. "But you've got your theories, don't you?" She paused, the silence giving him the answer he needed. "Look," he began again. "I get you don't like me, but this is… Elizabeth is in danger, I want – No. I _need_ to know what's going on. Put your personal dislike for me in a box marked "bitchy" and set it aside for just one second. I need to know–"

"My personal dislike for you is not an issue," Trebal replied forcefully, followed by a heavy exhale. "Besides, the more I look at you now, the more I realize I was probably…" she mumbled the last words, incoherently trailing off.

"What?"

She sighed and then sharply replied. "Wrong, all right? I was wrong about you."

The unexpected admission surprised him. "Really?" he said. The self-depreciating part of him couldn't help but ask, "Why?"

She shrugged, a tad annoyed. "I don't know. When I first met you, I thought… No, I _did_ see you look over me as nothing more than a morsel to satisfy your lust. I've met a thousand men in my life that took one look at me and saw nothing but a feeble-minded female that they wanted to bed. It has come to the point where I…" She blew out another sigh and started again. "I saw your reaction and I thought I was dealing with another imbecile. I have no time for such men."

"Oh," John replied, meekly, wishing he could say his initial opinion of her hadn't been exclusively based on her looks. He would have been lying though. He cleared his throat, trying not to look guilty. "Can I ask what changed your mind?"

She paused again, then nodded in the direction of the isolation ward; the one John wasn't allowed into. "You obviously care a great deal for someone else." She returned to her perch near the doorway, looking away from him. "It seems I was mistaken about your intentions towards me."

John was well aware of the implications of her words. More importantly, he was aware that he had no urge whatsoever to correct her assumption.

A nurse suddenly approached Trebal, whispering intensely. A moment latter Trebal nailed John with blazing, angry eyes; although for once, thankfully, it wasn't actually directed at him.

"Excuse me for one moment," she said, looking ready to kill. "We have some uninvited visitors."

John nodded and she left through the doorway she'd been guarding all day. His gaze immediately shifted back to the corridor he knew the isolation ward lay beyond, and seeing an opportunity, he quietly slipped out of bed. The reddish IV drip went with him, rolling along on a thin pole beside him. His feet quickly found their bearings. He double checked to see if anyone was watching, and when the coast was clear, he quickly and quietly made his way to the isolation ward.

When he opened the door, he found Elizabeth slumbering amidst an array of medical machinery, looking paler than he'd ever seen her before. A holographic heart monitor on the bedpost beeped slowly and steadily to her internal rhythm, but the sight of all those machines made John's breath hitch.

He crept over to her bedside and was struck by how incredibly fragile she looked. No matter how stubborn and determined he'd seen her be in the last few days, she was a different person in this room. Her dark hair curled against her pale cheeks in wisps and brushing one tendril aside, John felt like he was watching not the slumber of a colleague and friend but of someone vastly more important.

"Elizabeth," he began, nervously licking his lips. "I suppose I should say something profound right now." He paused, coming up blank. "But nothing really comes to minds, so I'm just . . . You have to pull through this, Elizabeth. You have to wake up." He cleared his throat. "Who else is gonna get my jokes, right? I can't... can't do this alone." He paused, and then admitted quietly, as much to himself as to her. "I need you."

Raised voices in another room abruptly caught his attention. Irritated, John knew he couldn't stay any longer, less he and his wounded ego be man-handled by more tiny women. He squeezed her hand, and then laid it back down on the white sheets, and stepped away. He knew he should leave, but he couldn't take his eyes away from her dormant form.

Voices grew louder, and the sense of an impending interruption didn't compel John to move as fast as it should have. Instead, he slowly inched backwards, too intent on the dormant figure in front of him to care much about any trouble.

He finally left the room, and found his way back to his bed. But the raised voices continued and John's curiosity pushed him to bypass his bed entirely to follow the source of the noise. He walked to the end of the corridor, where Trebal and two other people stood yelling at each other at the top of their lungs. One was an elderly woman and the other was a man around John's age; both were wearing the green colors of the delegates.

"–you do not deny it?" The man said. "We were told lies! Not only is Dr. Weir not from Atlantis, but she is not even one of our kind! You assured us that she was Alterian in blood."

"The poisonous Cronisalia," the other woman continued in a patronizing voice, "proves otherwise. She is _human._"

She spit the last word out with such venom that John nearly tripped over his own feeble feet in surprise. He managed to recover at the last moment, but not without alerting the group to his presence first.

Trebal looked exasperated. "Major Sheppard, I shouldn't have to tell that you should _remain_ in bed."

Ignoring her, John turned to the other two. "Is there a problem here?"

The woman turned to Trebal. "Is this the other one? Her consort?"

"Excuse me?" John quickly replied, his brows shooting up. "_He_ is standing right here. You can direct your questions at me."

"Why were we told lies about your origins?" The man asked. "You are not Alterian."

Trebal cut in before John could respond. "This man is recovering from a bout of _poisoned_ food," she said, emphatically. "If you wish to question anything at all, you can begin by asking the Captain of this ship. I trust you'll find all the answers you need from him. Now, if you'll excuse us, Major Sheppard and I have better things to do with our time – like staring aimlessly into a blank wall, for instance."

John smirked, instantly finding his estimation of Trebal moving up a notch or two. He relished the affronted looks on both of the delegates' faces, and smugly waved to them as they were escorted away by two guards holding posts nearby. Trebal turned back to him, and even though her voice was entirely professional and serious when she ordered him back to bed, John thought he picked up a hint of self-satisfaction underneath.

Once he climbed back into bed, he turned to Trebal, this time serious. "So, you going to explain to me what that was all about? Why were they looking at me like I was some lowly animal?"

"Your hair?" she offered, expression serious.

"Trebal," John glared. There was absolutely no teasing in his voice. "What the hell was that about?"

She sighed, looking away, internally debating with herself about something before facing him with scrutinizing eyes. "You remember when we told you to claim an Atlantian origin so as not to alarm the delegates with the complicated issues of time travel?" John nodded. "We did that for more than one reason," she said. "What you don't know – and probably couldn't have guessed considering where and when you came from – is that being human has lately garnered some ill reputations among some of our kind."

"Ill reputations?" John repeated, pointedly.

"Wraith worshipers," Trebal spat out the words. "While nearly every Alterian has been losing blood fighting the Wraith, some of the humans on various planets throughout the galaxy have found alternative measures. None of the human civilizations have anything near our level of technology. And few have any real chance of surviving even one _minor_ Wraith assault. Somewhere along the way, someone made a pact with the Wraith instead of fighting them. As the years passed by, more and more humans joined in, serving as the Wraith's slaves and spies. We call them Wraith worshipers."

The mere thought sickened him. "Wraith worshipers?"

Trebal nodded. "They've managed to cause us a great deal of trouble. There are spies all over the Galaxy and because of one too many deceits that our kind have suffered by these humans, some Alterians have become quite bitter. Some even see humans as siding with the enemy and distrust all of them based on the actions of a few. That's why we thought it best to label you and Dr. Weir as Atlantians. Few of the Alterians onboard this ship are from Atlantis, so we hoped no one would suspect anything amiss. Those from Atlantis that know of your true story have been sworn to secrecy."

John opened and closed his mouth, feeling it go dry. His gut tightened. "They're accusing us of being Wraith worshipers?"

Trebal flinched. "No one's officially made the accusation. However, the thought must be lingering in the minds of a few. It's my theory that the Cronisalia was given to you and Dr. Weir as a test to see if you were human or not. Something Dr. Weir said or did on the first day of the conference must have made one of them suspicious."

"And it didn't bother them," John replied, outraged and barely hiding it, "that this test could have killed us both?"

"From their perspective," she answered, "if you were human and lying about it, then you might be a spy. You deserved to die."

John clenched his fists trying to contain his frustration. They'd survived this long and gone through hell, and now Elizabeth lay comatose because a few bigoted Ancients couldn't get their heads out of their asses long enough to see that she – Dr. Elizabeth Weir, all things hopeful and reverent when it came to the Ancients - wasn't a spy! All she tried to do from the very beginning was help them. The idea that her efforts were so completely wasted among a group of ingrates like these grated on his last nerve.

"Major," Trebal spoke up, her eyes sharp. "Calm down. Upsetting yourself during your recovery isn't going to help matters and may cost you more in the end. At this moment, you are not as healthy as you choose to believe."

John took a deep breath, clenched his teeth and shoved a hand through his hair. He honed his eyes on Trebal. "How much danger are we still in?"

She leaned against the wall. "Honestly, I don't know. If their ultimate aim was to pull her off the delegation, then the goal has already been accomplished. At this point, she's going to be confined to the med lab until the delegation is over."

If she survived the coma, John thought darkly. He looked back to the pathway that led to the isolation ward and realized the draw she had on him. He wanted to check on her again.

"Get some rest, Major," Trebal said, turning her back on him. "You can't do anything for her when you're weak. Rest for her, if not for yourself."

John swallowed bitterly and shifted down further into the bed. Anger and frustration left him restless, and he kept thinking of the injustice of the situation, and how everything kept going wrong with little to be done to stop it.

It was apparently his fate to watch everyone around him suffer horrific deaths while he walked away without much more as a scratch to show for it.

One of the nurses eventually came by, and despite his protests, increased the IV drip by a small amount. It had a large effect. Within moments, John's eyelids suddenly felt very heavy. The nurse walked away, turning off the light in the room and descending John into darkness. He caught sight of Trebal shifting her position in the lighted doorway, but his mind didn't rest on her at all. Instead, as his mind became fuzzy as exhaustion overtook him, sleep came, but it was far from welcome… or restful.

He dreamt of dying, all alone.

* * *

John woke abruptly, covered in cold sweat and fighting off the image of a Wraith feeding on Elizabeth as he watched. The vision wouldn't leave him. It seared into his brain and even as he tried desperately to wipe the image away, the cold terror that gripped him was shocking in its ferocity.

He scrubbed his groggy eyes, and when he opened them, he found Amish standing at the far end of the room, a vacant wheelchair in front of him. Trebal stood at her post in the corner, looking like she hadn't moved an inch since the last time he'd seen her. He stared pointedly at the wheelchair, and cast them both curious glances even as he tried to slow his breathing and steady his heartbeat.

"You've been sleeping like the dead for ten hours," Amish commented lightly, turning his back to give John some privacy to recover. "Whatever drugs you're on, I want some."

Trebal looked to Amish even as she addressed John. "He was insistent on sharing a watch with me. Apparently this mechanic friend of yours has it in his head that he can help protect you."

John looked from one to the other. Neither commented on the fact that he had obviously woken from a nightmare; instead, both were willing to ignore the dancing, pink elephant in the room – tutu and all. John was grateful. He swiped sweat off his forehead with the edge of his shirt then took a sip of water before turning back to the others with enough composure to talk.

"Appreciate the thought, Amish," John said, glad his voice was solid. "But don't you have better things to do?"

Amish smiled, pushing the wheelchair closer to the bed. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I'm planning a jailbreak. You in?"

Trebal rolled her eyes and then turned to John with a commanding voice. "You'll be leaving for thirty minutes to an hour. To get fresh air."

"What fresh air?" Amish replied, dryly. "Everything in this ship is the same recycled oxygen."

Trebal glared, trading a pointed look with Amish that John couldn't decipher. Amish immediately receded, guiltily looking away, and John was left to belatedly play catch up. "You're letting me out of the med lab?"

Trebal nodded. "One hour maximum."

"What about Elizabeth?"

"She's not going anywhere," Trebal replied matter-of-factly. "I'll call you on the intercom if her status changes."

"Quickly now," Amish added, discreetly nodding his head towards Trebal. "Before she changes her mind."

John was eager to concede and didn't need to be told twice. Well, actually he did, but he blamed that on the meds. Amish helped him out of his bed and when John settled into his wheelchair, he was ushered out of the room almost before he was ready. The automatic doors slid open for them, and while Trebal stayed behind to guard Elizabeth, John and Amish quickly made their way down the corridors.

John received a fair amount of attention from many people passing by. They stopped to offer their best wishes for a speedy recovery and a sympathetic word or two regarding Elizabeth's condition. He was surprised by the attention, but more than that, he was bewildered by Amish's refusal to stop moving. The man was a wheelchair pushing maniac. It finally dawned on John that he was being taken towards a particular destination, and that time must have been a factor.

"Where are we going?"

"To get the best view in the house," Amish replied, pulling him up to a section of the ship that was covered at one side with a large transparent window. It gave a clear view of a strange swirling of blue light. John stared at the sight in confusion for a moment before Amish explained. "We've almost reached our destination. I figured you'd appreciate seeing us jump out of hyperspace. The planet we're heading to is a thing of absolute beauty."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Amish answered. "I'm almost surprised the Wraith agreed to it as the planet where negotiations are to be held. It's considered to have one of the most advanced Alterian cities in this part of the galaxy."

"Really?" John replied with a hint of suspicion. "That's curious. Why would they be so willing to give us a home-field advantage like that?"

"I do not know," Amish replied. "But the delegates seem confident the gesture is a show of good faith by the Wraith."

John nodded absently. Aside from Elizabeth, he put very little weight into much of what the delegates had to say. Without her, this entire mission was doomed before it even began. The annoying voice in his head reminded him that was exactly what he thought all along, with or without Elizabeth's presence, but John ignored it.

John wheeled his chair closer to the window. "Tell me more about this planet."

Amish was more than willing to share the information. The planet, Olesia, was known throughout the galaxy as a beacon of peace. For many generations, it was considered an ideal place for settling disagreements, and the natives were often called to mediate various interplanetary disputes as a neutral third party. Their level of technology and contributions to science was also unparalleled. The Olesians' gave birth to numerous advances on the Alterians' worlds, and some of those included advanced artificial life forms.

John nodded, trying to look enthused. "Sounds like the epitome of Ancient civilization," he drawled.

"Alterian," Amish corrected, annoyed. "We are not decrepit beings. I'm twenty-six Atlantian years old! Please stop calling us ancient."

John smirked. "Ah, c'mon, I say that with love. I was always taught to respect my elders."

"It is most likely a slip such as that," Amish said darkly, "that led to Elizabeth falling under suspicion. You have to be more careful about the way you talk here."

John nodded, silencing the cynical voice inside his head that told him keeping his mouth shut was never one of his strong suits.

A moment latter, the Aurora pulled out of hyperspace with a soft lunge forward, jarring John from his thoughts. The blue streaks flashed white then vanished. As the Aurora slowed to cruising speed, John looked out the window and saw a blue and green planet in the distance. He was amazed at how much it looked like Earth from up here. It even had a moon in orbit. Two other Ancient warships immediately pulled up besides the Aurora and John found this particular view all the more impressive when he considered the firepower that surrounded Olesia.

"Olesia," Amish said, breathing deeply as his eyes filled with hope. "We're finally here."

* * *

The delegates gathered in one of the main rooms not far from John and Amish's position. As they assembled, each dressed in different garbs of green, resentment tangled his gut that Elizabeth was not among them. He forcefully pushed the feeling down as Amish informed him that the delegates were to be transported to the planet within the hour. Negotiations would commence as soon as the Wraith delegation arrived within the next day.

Amish had been assigned to the delegation guard duty later that night; a fact that he seemed thinly enthused about. John couldn't blame him. The idea of babysitting a bunch of bureaucrats wasn't his idea of fun either; but the threat of the Wraith was not a thing to be taken lightly. Tension had been building steadily for the last few days, but now that they had arrived at Olesia, John could feel the strain ratcheting up another notch.

A few of the delegates' faces turned green enough to match their outfits, and John noticed that old and young alike looked far too jittery to handle what was coming. He sympathized with them, even as he remembered that one or more among them were most likely responsible for poisoning him and Elizabeth. But from what he'd heard of the Wraith and the live footage he'd seen of them feeding, John wouldn't wish that type that death on anyone, not even his worst enemy.

Still, his mood darkened as he watched more delegates come from various sections of the vessel. Feeling restless and incapable of doing anything, John asked Amish to steer him back to the med lab. But the other man hesitated for some reason. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah. Not that all this hasn't been, you know, scintillating and all."

Amish shifted in his stance. "How about we head to the Commissary? Get something to eat?"

John shook his head. "Thanks, Amish. Really, I'd just rather go back to the infirmary." He injected some enthusiasm into his words. "Appreciate that you took me out here though. It was nice seeing the jump out of hyperspace. Now all I need is the Millennium Falcon and my childhood dreams are complete."

Amish stared blankly at him.

John shook his head again. Obviously he needed another reason for Elizabeth to wake up… she was only one that would get his jokes. He squared his shoulders, pretending to be all business again. "So," he said. "Med lab?"

"Yes… well…." Amish fidgeted, oddly uncomfortable. "Let's not go back just yet."

"Why not?"

"Because," he began, avoiding eye contact. "Y-you're probably going to be stuck there for some time. Might as well take advantage of the freedom while you can."

John narrowed his eyes. "Something wrong, man?"

"You know what," Amish started; his face lighting up. "I just remembered that the Gateships had an upgrade in the last day. The maneuvering is a thing of beauty, and considering that we're out of hyperspace, you can take it out for a spin now."

John sat up straight. "Really?"

Amish nodded. "Don't see why not."

The thought immediately brought a smile to John's face, but he faltered for a second. "But I'm still recovering."

Amish shrugged. "If you've got strength enough to walk, you can fly a Gateship. It's mostly just concentration, anyway."

John's face scrunched up in contemplation and then he idly tested the feel of his legs. He pushed off his wheelchair slowly and found his weight too much to carry for the first second. He recovered quickly, though, turning to flash Amish a grin as he took a couple of experimental steps. His strength started gaining with each step taken. _Gotta love those Healers._ One thing he could not complain about was the medical in this place. He'd almost been killed twice and both times the Healers had him nearly back to full strength within twenty-four hours.

"To the Gateships, then," Amish said eagerly.

John paused for a moment, looking his friend over. Amish's enthusiasm seemed a little too… enthused. "Why are you so excited?"

Amish's eyes widened, then his smile purposely dimmed. "What? Can I not be excited for my friend?"

John's eyes narrowed. "No."

Amish rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sheppard. Let's not waste time."

But something gripped John's stomach, twisting. Uncomfortable curiosity built momentum the more Amish seemed eager to get moving. He quickly tossed around the possible reasons why Amish would act so strangely and finally realized what was really going on.

"You don't want me to go back to the infirmary."

Amish proved to be a horrible liar by stuttering. "W-what? No, of course not. It's not that at all–"

John turned, making his way back to the infirmary as quickly as his new found legs would carry him. Amish swiftly caught up and purposely blocked his pathway, replacing John's curiosity with pronounced suspicion.

"Wait," Amish implored. "You're being paranoid."

"Get out of my way."

Amish didn't move. "Sheppard, I'm telling you, you're being–"

John got up close and personal, face to face with the other man. He locked their gazes and bit out every word in a low threatening voice. "If you don't want to make this into a thing, then get out of my way, Amish."

Despite having the bigger build of the two and currently being in far better physical health, Amish raised his hands in surrender. "You're taking this the wrong way."

"Why don't you want me to go back to the infirmary?" John asked, voice turning ice cold. "Is it Elizabeth?"

The sudden shame flashing in Amish's eyes was all the answer John needed. Alarms clanged in his head. Adrenaline surged through his blood and he forcefully pushed past Amish, racing for the infirmary. Halfway down the hall, his legs started failing, jelly-like under the exertion, but John pushed forth. Limping, pushing himself with all his might to speed up to a jog as fears manifested inside his mind. What if something happened to Elizabeth? What if they had done something to her? What if they had to get him out of the room so they could do something to her _right now?_

_What if she's already dead?_

The terrifying possibility drove him through the pain, weakness and dizziness bearing down on him. His lungs burned and his legs felt on fire, but John pushed harder. By the time he reached the infirmary, he was out of breath and nearly dropping to his knees in exhaustion and disorientation.

Trebal spotted him. "Sheppard? What are you doing?" she asked, and then turned incredulous. "Were you _running!_"

John glared up at her, catching his breath. "Where's Elizabeth?"

Trebal froze, which did nothing but add to John's suspicions. "Where's Amish?" She asked, avoiding the question.

Amish appeared behind John at the summons, looking red-faced and embarrassed. "I couldn't stop him."

Trebal sighed and just as John began repeating his question with a tight voice, she raised her hands in a placating manner. "We didn't want you to witness this."

John pushed away from the wall holding him up, trying to instill intimidation into every step as he closed in on the First Officer. "Witness what exactly?"

Then he heard Elizabeth scream.

It was gut-wrenching and terrifying, piercing through the air as if she was being cut open and ripped apart. All three heads whipped in the direction of the isolation ward. John's legs started moving even before his brain gave the command. He burst through the doors to find several Healers surrounding Elizabeth, holding her down as she bucked and riled up like she was fighting for her life. The sight turned his vision red.

"Sheppard, wait–"

John pushed one of the Healers away, slamming him into a nearby table before turning his attention to the others. Two of them immediately backed away, but one still had his hands all over Elizabeth, pushing her down, holding her down while she continued screaming. John slammed his fist into the Healer's cheek, sending him sprawling backwards to the ground. It wasn't until Amish had grabbed him from behind and pulled him away from the bed that John realized Elizabeth was still screaming incoherently.

Her eyes were wide open and possessed with a demonic fury he didn't recognize. Free from any restraints, she immediately pushed off the bed and blindly charged at the nearest thing to her – which turned out to be John. She launched herself at him, slamming into him and Amish simultaneously sending them all crashing to the floor. While Amish's hold immediately released him, John was now forced to fight off Elizabeth as she wildly threw blow after blow at his body. It was erratic and uncoordinated, but the sheer rage behind her savage punches managed to drive home a couple of good knocks and John found himself turning defensive on her.

He grabbed her hands, vaguely aware that others were helping him, and managed to turn both of them over, bringing her body directly underneath his. He held her down with his weight, and pulled her thrashing hands over her head with his own. Pressed body against body, she didn't relent. Consumed with a fury that shocked him, she continued to fight him as if _he_ were the enemy.

"Elizabeth!" he shouted over her unrestrained screams. "Elizabeth, it's me!"

"She doesn't understand you," Trebal shouted. "It's the treatment! It's causing this reaction."

His glare in Trebal's direction told her and everyone else to stay away. The _treatment_ was doing this to her? Fighting down his own anger, he turned back to an enraged Elizabeth and tried to calm her down again with meaningless words of comfort. It didn't work. She proved to be surprisingly strong, and equally determined to get out from under John's hold. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the Healers approaching them with a syringe. John turned to level everyone with a look that promised pain if they so much as got within a foot of Elizabeth with more drugs.

Elizabeth screamed in his ear and John cringed. "I'll handle this!" he said with more confidence than he felt.

"Sheppard, she's not herself," Amish argued. "You can't–"

John tuned him out. His gaze locked onto the untamed green eyes before him. He needed to act fast and do something bold if he was going to get any type of reaction out of Elizabeth besides frenetic violence. This was unbridled fear, not anger: fight or flight. And damn if she wasn't going to fight with everything she had, against something that didn't even exist! John had to break whatever chemical spell she was under that made her so violent.

How was he supposed to do that?

John made a snap decision – and even as he cursed himself for his own foolishness – he hoped one moment would be enough to break through to her.

He held her down, and descended his lips onto hers.

She bucked and riled and battled against him. Teeth scraped against his lips in resistance, but his awareness of her writhing body underneath his was never stronger. It was perhaps a second later – maybe two – that a shift in behavior occurred. Almost as immediately as the violence began, it started to ebb away. The jerks of her body subsided. The violent resistance to his kiss dissolved into acceptance. A small hitch of a sound erupted from her, nearly driving John over the edge with instant desire. Then she melted completely into his embrace and actively reciprocated.

All that existed in that moment, all that mattered was that she lay beneath him, legs curling around him in a full body embrace that was quickly turning into something more than he originally intended.

Until he remembered himself and the situation again. John abruptly pulled back, completely breathless. Elizabeth stared up at him, and instead of a wild tint in her eyes that had so recently possessed them, they were nearly glazed over with an expression he couldn't describe. It wasn't fear, though. He could, however, tell her ability to speak or think rationally had not returned. Before he could glance back to what was surely a stupefied audience, her hand slipped from his hair and settled onto his cheek instead.

John stared down at her and the sudden warmth of the emotion he saw reflected in her eyes threatened to overwhelm him. His heart thumped hard and fast in his chest and he could feel hers matching the pace.

A moment later, her hand slipped away and she fell instantly asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Though he didn't want anyone else to touch her, John's energy quickly lagged once the episode ended and he could barely make himself stand, let alone lift Elizabeth. And even though he was still smarting from Amish's deception, John requested that the larger man be the one to put Elizabeth back in bed. Amish was amazingly gentle as he took care of the task. He then backed away so that John could be close to her again.

"The treatment was designed to forcefully expel Dr. Weir from the coma," One of the Healers explained, sporting a nasty bruise on the left side of his face thanks to John's swift fist. The Healer moved along the other side of the bed because John wasn't about to give up his place by Elizabeth's side.

Adjusting a biometric scanner as he moved it along her body, the Healer continued with his explanation. "Unfortunately, one of the well known side-effects to this treatment is an increase in the level of a neural-transmitter that we call Kimosesion, which diminishes a person's self-control and rational thought. When the patient first emerges from the coma, the increase in Kimosesion often results in the patient exhibiting wild fluctuations in violence, anger, terror – traditionally uncontrollable emotions that are prolonged and unrestrained."

John stared at Elizabeth. His heart rate slowed as the adrenaline abated, leaving him worn out. Two of the Healers continued their work while Amish and Trebal stood back, though John barely remembered they were in the same room. Seeing Elizabeth so feral had scared the shit out of him even as it made him thankful to see her out of the coma and alive and kicking... he just never anticipated seeing it so literally.

But even with the taste of their kiss still lingering on his lips, John wasn't about to jinx anything by thinking Elizabeth was out of the woods. He wouldn't believe it until he saw her awake again, _fully_ rational and cognizant.

Another of the Healers approached him from behind. John inadvertently stiffened. "It's advantageous we did not have to administer any injection of sedatives. It would have largely diminished the treatment's success to introduce any more substances into her body so soon after the spike of Kimosesion. We're fortunate she feel asleep on her own."

"Obviously," Amish said, pulling John's attention to the younger man. "We never considered subduing a patient with intimate relations before. Not generally a customary medical response, I imagine." He grinned.

John grimaced, ignoring the comment that brought the word _foreplay_ to mind. "Why wasn't I told about this treatment before it happened?"

Trebal answered, titling her head to the side defiantly. "It wasn't meant as an act of deception, Major. Obviously, we didn't want you to witness the side-effects of the treatment. In the past, it has been traumatic for loved ones to witness." She raised an eyebrow. "Although you seemed to handle it just fine."

"Enough with the innuendos," John snapped. "You should have told me about this before!"

The nearest Healer gave him a pointed look. "We had your best interests at heart, Major."

John's eyes flashed with anger. "Next time, don't bother. I'm a big boy. I can handle a few unpleasant side-effects. What I can't handle is that you were hurting someone I care about."

The Healer rubbed the tender side of his jaw. "I've been made well aware of that fact."

John shifted awkwardly in his stance. He knew if the situation was to play out again, he would do the exact same thing. Still, he felt a spark of guilt at the misunderstanding. "Yeah, well," he offered, shrugging. "You might want to put some ice on that."

The Healer looked more amused than annoyed and nodded once. "I think, if the situation was reversed, I might have reacted similarly. No need to apologize, Major." He swiftly moved around Elizabeth's body, tapping on the virtual screen of the datapad in front of him. "I suppose it's a comfort to know chivalry isn't dead in the future."

John was surprised to discover the Healer knew anything about his time-traveling. He looked to Trebal for an explanation, and she quickly gave him one. "He's your Healer." She said, as if that was explanation enough.

The man smiled. "Your physiology was unique enough to raise questions. I knew you two weren't Alterian from the first scan I performed." He glanced at Trebal. "Officer Trebal educated me of your story. It's quite amazing. To think… the second evolution of our kind." He smiled at the novelty.

John restrained an eye roll. "Yes, it's absolutely fascinating. Now can we get back to Elizabeth? What's the verdict, doc?"

The Healer glanced down at his device. "She's just resting, Major. All preliminary tests show only positive results. She'll wake up when she's ready." He walked by, clasping a reassuring hand onto John's shoulder. "She'll be alright."

John nodded once, briefly closing his eyes in utter relief.

* * *

Amish left for his guard duty on Olesia and Trebal rotated her shift in the infirmary with another officer on deck. Officer Ceasy turned out to be the strong silent type. Even when John decided to strike up a conversation with him out of pure boredom, Ceasy proved to have nothing but a monosyllable vocabulary. John eventually gave up on the conversation, pulled up an uncomfortable chair near Elizabeth's bedside, and resolved himself to waiting silently for her to wake up. Even if it took the rest of the day, he wanted to be there when she did.

He didn't know what he was going to say to her when she woke up, let alone how he was going to be able to act rationally around her from now on. His feelings for Elizabeth were becoming more than just professional or friendly – hell, he wouldn't have been all that surprised if turned into just physical, but it was more than that. He'd noticed her attractiveness from the beginning, even entertained an idle fantasy or two about her, but he did not expect that to morph into something more . . . _real._

Almost without his knowledge, and certainly without his permission, John realized that his feelings for Elizabeth had become inexplicably deep in a matter of scant days. He always did like things that went fast. Rollercoasters. Planes. Anything that went faster than two hundred miles per hour. He shouldn't have been surprised by this, then.

Every relationship he'd ever had – even the ones that lasted longer than a few weeks or months – were tinged with nearly complete apathy. Something that John had managed to convince himself was normal. He never felt that spark, that feeling that poets waxed lyrical about and women watched movies for. He was a practical guy, enjoyed the chase, loved the sex as well as women in general; he had simply never been _in love_ with any of them. With Elizabeth, though, there was a hint – a possibility – that what he felt now was the first step towards an utter free fall.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Given the fact that the odds against them surviving more than a few days – even after she pulled out of this coma – were stupendously long, the circumstances of their situation managed to redefine the words hopeless romantics. _Congratulations John,_ he thought to himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration, _only you would be screwed up enough to fall for a woman during an apocalypse._

He sighed, trying to rein in the emotions that ran every which way.

Damn, he was so screwed.

Her fingers curled.

At first, John thought he imagined the slight movement. But a moment later the action repeated itself. John's eyes settled onto her face and he eagerly rose from his chair. He told Ceasy to call the Healers then turned back just in time to see Elizabeth's eyes flutter open.

His eyes met sleepy green ones, crinkling around the side as she flinched against the bright light of the room. She groaned something incoherent, but John smiled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "Hey there, Sleeping Beauty."

Her eyes fluttered closed and then opened again. She breathed in a soft amused whisper, "Hey, Prince Charming."

* * *

A full day later, escorted by two guards for their protection, John wheeled Elizabeth out of the med lab for a short trip. While the presence of the guards intruded on the first chance he had to be alone with her, John tolerated them. Elizabeth may be off the delegation, but John wasn't satisfied on their safety. Yes, John was willing to admit, he was definitely becoming a tad overprotective. And he didn't care.

"When did the Wraith arrive?"

John tensed, glancing down at her and idly wondered if he was overprotective enough, considering. "This morning. You look out any of the external windows, and you could probably spot at least one of the five Hive ships hovering in space around us."

"Five?" Elizabeth repeated, sounding appropriately alarmed. "I thought the Ancients were only allowed three warships."

He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Probably best to call them Alterians from now on, if only in public. We don't need any more trouble." Elizabeth nodded, and John got a whiff of her hair. Flowery. He liked it. "Anyway," John continued quickly, standing straight. "The Alterians were only allowed three ships. The Aurora, the Sentinel, and the Korlin. The Wraith have five because they let the Alterians designate Olesia as the planet."

Elizabeth exhaled harshly. "That was a mistake. We should have agreed to a neutral third planet. Given the level of technology on Olesia, if this turns disastrous, the Alterians will lose another stronghold."

"They tell me Olesia has strong defenses. If the Wraith want a fight there, apparently there'll be an impressive display of fireworks before it all ends."

"Somehow, that doesn't comfort me," Elizabeth muttered.

Silently, John agreed, but he shrugged as if the thought hadn't occurred to him a thousand times over already. He wheeled her down another empty hallway. The Aurora felt largely hollow without the main bulk of its passengers onboard. The delegates had left the previous night, and many of the crew, like Amish, were placed on guard duty at various posts across Olesia. The crew members remaining on board now numbered only in the double digits, enough for rotating shifts to keep operating the ship at full power. For the most part, it left the internally blue tinged vessel seemingly abandoned. John had wheeled Elizabeth down four corridors before they ran into another individual.

Trebal stopped before them, hands clasped behind her back. "Dr. Weir, it's comforting to see that you are no longer bedridden."

Elizabeth smiled. "Not as comforting as it feels."

Trebal glanced at John, head nodding toward the direction she just came from. "Captain wanted to know if you'd like to meet him on the Deck."

He traded a quick surprised look with Elizabeth, then nodded. "Lead the way."

She did. It took five minutes for the group to come to Operations Control on the main bridge. John had been in here twice already, getting an eager eyeful of the large open space that contained various instruments and virtual monitors on the surface of every wall. He spotted Captain Loren at the corner of one them bending down, giving orders to one of his people. Loren spotted the incoming trio from the corner of his eye, and turned towards them in greeting.

His sight settled on Elizabeth. "Dr. Weir, I'm glad you're feeling better."

John could tell the constant well-wishes from everyone was starting to wear thin on Elizabeth's nerves, but ever the diplomat, she kept up a pleasant facade. "Thank you, Captain."

Loren crossed over the expanse to meet them. "I actually wanted to talk with both of you in private. If you'll join me in my study?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Of course, Captain."

Loren turned back to Trebal. "You have the bridge. Keep an eye out for the signals."

As they started toward Loren's private study, John couldn't keep his curiosity at bay. "Signals, Sir?"

Loren nodded. "There's been some sputtering on our communication's network from distant planets on the outskirts of the galaxy. They've proven to be largely incoherent data bursts, but we've been keeping a close watch on it. You can never be too cautionary during a time of war."

Loren led them into a tastefully small room with an assortment of filled bookshelves to one side and wide plate-glass desk and accompanying chair in the opposite corner. John wheeled Elizabeth up to the front of the desk while Loren went around to the other side and pulled his chair free. He sat, quickly rummaging through his drawers for something. John kept standing, eyeing the surroundings before Loren dropped several folders onto the tabletop.

"Dr. Weir," he began, pushing the folders forward. "I was hoping you could take a look at the manifest of our delegates and tell me if you have any suspects on who drugged you."

John had already been through this with her, several times, so he knew her answer. "Unfortunately, Captain, I have no idea who I upset. Everyone I've encountered onboard the Aurora has been nothing but pleasant and friendly. I have no idea who drugged me."

"Did you make any remarks to anyone?" Loren asked, watching her carefully. "Anything that would have led others to suspect you were not from Atlantis? Humans may be different from us on a genetic level, but on the surface, it's difficult to distinguish between Alterian and human. For someone to suspect you and your origins, something must have tipped them off. Was there any such encounter?"

Elizabeth contemplated for a moment, then her shoulders sagged when nothing came to mind. "Honestly, Captain, I may have done several things that hinted at my ignorance of the Alterian ways. I'm still largely a novice at working with much of the basic technology here. I've even avoided the ones that require Alterian genetics to operate. But it could have been other things, too. I may have compromised myself with something I didn't even perceive as problematic at the time," she motioned to John. "Like accidentally referring to someone as an Ancient instead of Alterian. It could have been a thousands little missteps that gave me away."

Loren sighed, displeased but not surprised. "I had feared that would be your answer. Look through these personnel files anyway, and if anything comes to mind, please inform myself or Trebal immediately."

Elizabeth dutifully nodded, gathering up the files.

A knock at the door interrupted their meeting and Trebal surprisingly entered without permission. But she looked serious enough that Loren's immediate reprimand died on his lips. "Captain, we're receiving a long range frequency call for help."

Loren abruptly stood up. "From one of the planets on the outer rim?"

She nodded. "Yes, Sir. A planet is being attacked by Hive ships as we speak. They are requesting any available ships within jump-distance for backup. _We're_ within jump-distance, Sir."

Loren took a breath, then: "Which planet is it?"

Trebal clasped her hands behind her back. "Athos, Sir."

Loren's head snapped up and he traded an intense look with Trebal that John couldn't decipher. He glanced back and forth between the two. "So, what are we waiting for? Isn't this where we send in the cavalry?"

Conflicting emotions flashed in the Captain's eyes as they lifted to John's. "It's not as simple as that, Major. We cannot abandon our current positions. The delegation still needs our protection."

Trebal interceded. "Athos is taking direct heavy bombardment. We've seen how this turns out. If we don't send help immediately, it'll be destroyed."

"I am well aware of that, Trebal," Loren countered, coming out from behind his desk and quickly returning to the Bridge. John traded a pointed look with Elizabeth before pushing her wheelchair down after him. They caught the tension filled voices of the two ranking Aurora officers up front. "We cannot simply abandon the delegation," Loren continued. "Our duties to this mission must come first and foremost."

"We could send the Sentinel or the Korlin in our stead," Trebal countered. "They have jump capability as well, and more then enough firepower to drive off–"

"And leave us with two ships to defend against five Hive ships should this delegation turn disastrous?" Loren argued. "No, we cannot spare any ship at all."

Trebal squared her shoulders. "Then you realize you're dooming a planet to fall. Yet another planet left to be a feeding ground for them!"

"Calm down, Officer!" Loren ordered, turning his gaze towards Trebal. "I know the sacrifice this will mean. But we cannot let our personal desires get in the way of what must be done."

Trebal spoke more evenly, though still argumentative. "Even if it sacrifices millions of innocent lives?"

Loren's eyes hardened and he nodded. "To save billions in the end? Yes. This delegation is our last hope."

John licked his lips, readying to speak. He hated being the pessimistic voice in the crowd, but it needed to be said. "Anybody else thinking that the Wraith planned this?"

Elizabeth glanced up, locking her gaze on his. "You mean they waited until they knew we were preoccupied with the delegation, before they attacked planets elsewhere?"

"Not just any planets," Trebal informed. "Athos is on the outer rim of the galaxy. If we jump now, it'll still be a long wait before we arrive there. It could be days before we would be able to come back to Olesia and the delegation."

A foreboding chill worked up John's spine and he turned to Loren and Trebal. "Can you contact any of the other Alterian planets? See what their situation is?"

Trebal's eyes widened as she caught on to John's way of thinking. "You think this is the beginning of a full-on assault on our Alterian strongholds?"

John crossed the platform towards Loren, intent on making his message heard loud and clear. "You said so yourself. You can't afford to leave the delegation behind. The Wraith must know that. If they wanted to finish us off with little resistance, this is how they would do that."

"Oh, God," Elizabeth breathed behind him. "You're suggesting the delegation was just a distraction?"

Loren traded looks with both of them. "Let's not jump to any conclusions. Athos is the only confirmed Alterian planet under attack."

"For now," Trebal added sharply.

Loren pointed her over to one of the monitors. "Get in contact with Alberon, Onsedia, Evon, and Tolorit. I want you to find out their state of affairs."

"We're only in range to contact Evon," Trebal said, even as she rushed over to the designated monitor. "The rest of the planets are too far away."

"Then do it," Loren ordered. "Get in contact with Evon at least."

Elizabeth suddenly spoke up. "Demand from the Wraith's delegation on Olesia that they stop their assaults on Athos." She turned to look exclusively at Loren. "Make it a stipulation in the agreement – no, scratch that – make it a stipulation in simply allowing the negotiations to _continue._ If they don't immediately agree and have their brethren withdraw from Athos, threaten not only to walk out on the talks, but–"

"–Threaten to blow them all to hell," John finished, seeing her direction. "You said Olesia has a strong defense system. Couple that with the firepower of the three warships and threaten to blow their five Hive ships into little itty bits and pieces. Convince them that if they don't pull back from Athos, we mean business."

Elizabeth took a deep breath and pushed herself out of the wheelchair. Coming up on wobbly legs but determined to stand her ground, she leveled her gaze on Loren. "And I'd like to request permission to deliver that message personally, Sir."

John's eyes immediately cut to her, but before he could say anything in protest, Elizabeth's gaze slid to connect with his. A silent, almost hidden plea in her eyes begged him to trust her on this. John swallowed hard, heart suddenly racing, and hesitated. But in the end, there was only one thing he would ever do. He stepped forward to stand by Elizabeth in order to present Loren with a unified front.

Loren traded looks back and forth between the two, and then nodded resolutely. "Permission granted. Trebal, escort them."

* * *

Trebal took her lead on the way from the armory to the docking bay. John adjusted the large automatic weapon strapped to his shoulder, intimidating in both its size and firepower, and glanced at Elizabeth. She seemed determined to stay walking on her own two feet. Still, he couldn't hide his concern. The Alterian healing abilities worked remarkably fast, but this time yesterday, she was in coma and the fragile image refused to leave him. She shouldn't have been walking, much less going down to Olesia to face the Wraith and most likely piss them off.

John wanted to say that he didn't relish the thought of going down to Olesia, but a soldier all his life, he wanted to be where the action was. He wanted to finally meet the Wraith that he'd heard so much about. A big part of him even wanted to settle a score for Radek Zelenka, who was killed when one of their Wraith Darts had shot down John's Gateship.

He just didn't want Elizabeth around for any of it.

"Don't worry, Major," she said, connecting with his gaze. She must have felt his scrutiny. "I'll be fine."

John literally bit his tongue against the urge to argue and order her to stay put.

Trebal turned the last corner and the three arrived before a collection of Gateships. A few of the mechanics stepped back as Trebal moved forward, a purposeful stride in her every step. She headed straight for the nearest Gateship, uttering a few passing commands to one of the mechanics. John's mind flashed over the fact that Amish was already down there with the Wraith, before he noticed Trebal climbing into one of the Gateships.

Trebal turned and motioned to them. "We'll take this one."

John raised an eyebrow. "You're coming with us?"

She threw him back a patronizing look. "You think I was escorting you here for my health? Captain says Dr. Weir is in the delegation again, however I doubt the other negotiators will just step aside and let her in. They need to be assured by someone they know has authority." She waved them into the ship. "Besides, you think I'd let you fly one of these by yourself?"

Elizabeth's upper lip twitched into an almost-smirk. "He's actually pretty good at maneuvering that thing, you know?"

Trebal rolled her eyes before stepping in ahead of them. Her voice echoed off the hull as both John and Elizabeth trudged up the hatch after her. "As I recall, didn't the last Gateship you flew end up at the bottom of the ocean?" She settled into the pilot's seat. "It's not exactly a ringing endorsement for your piloting skills."

John glowered at the insult as he sat shotgun and Elizabeth took the seat directly behind him. Even if the remark was true, he still felt the sting to his ego. "Those were unusual circumstances," he insisted; his voice tinged with annoyance. "Besides, it was my first time. Don't I get any brownie points for that?"

Trebal didn't comment and instead geared up the pre-flight commands. The rear hatch shut and John's ears popped as the vacuum sealed. A moment latter, the ship lifted off and the mechanics cleared away from the docking bay just before the internal doors of the Aurora closed. Trebal clicked a button and two retreating hatches in the outer hull divided apart.

Space greeted them and Elizabeth gasped audibly. John could tell it wasn't from delight at the heavenly sight, but with fear induced by the two Hive ships directly in their path. Trebal maneuvered the Gateship out of the Aurora docking bay, and as it began the descent towards the planet, John caught sight of the Sentinel, Korlin and the other three Hive ships hovering over the planet. The sight was one that brought to mind every cuss word in every language that John knew, but he kept it quiet. No reason to disillusion Elizabeth with his 'we're all going to die' theory. At least, not yet.

Things were about to get _very_ interesting.

* * *

Olesia proved to be as sophisticated and advanced as John imagined from Amish's description. Once landed, the trio emerged into a polished, sleek silver-toned facility with biometric scanners and numerous, high-tech surveillance cameras. Within a minute of setting foot onto the metal flooring, John and Elizabeth were scanned by one of the innocuous looking cameras in the corner and identified as human.

Trebal's scans confirmed her Alterian origins, and the room also completed an ocular scan that recognized her identity as the First Officer of the Aurora. She was instantly granted access to much of the security details regarding defenses and current guard rotation. This included a complete manifest of every Alterian, human, and Wraith occupying the planet and their precise whereabouts on it. John found this last bit especially nifty.

"The delegation is currently gathered in the Northeast quadrant," Trebal said, studying the information uploaded onto the PDA-type device in her hand. "Thirty-two Wraith are there. We have them outnumbered two to one on the ground."

Elizabeth nodded. "Well, that's good news."

"Up in space," Trebal continued. "We're outnumbered five to three."

John traded a look with Elizabeth. "Well, that's not-so-good news," he deadpanned.

Elizabeth's eyes held a hint of apprehension in them, but then she stepped forward, seemingly driving the anxiety away through sheer will power. Her gaze settled on Trebal. "What do you say we get this show on the road, Officer?"

Trebal raised a cautioning hand. "First, I have to speak with the delegates and make sure your presence doesn't cause an uproar with them."

"Who the hell cares if they're upset?!" John growled. The thought of being in the same room with those people worked his last nerve. Someone in that group tried to _kill_ them. Trebal should be more concerned about _his_ uproar.

"No, John," Elizabeth cut in. "Trebal's right. We need to present a unified front to the Wraith. If we bicker like children in front of them, the Wraith won't take anything we have to say seriously."

The Wraith weren't going to take anything they said seriously no matter what, John thought silently. He bit the words back, and refocused on Trebal. "What's the second thing you have to do?"

"Second," Trebal said, raising an eyebrow at him. "I need to contact the Aurora and find out if they've received anymore intelligence from our other Alterian outposts. Once we get more than your mere conjecture that the Wraith are beginning a wide-scale attack on our strongholds, then we get the go-ahead to makes things more interesting around here."

"Define interesting," John queried.

"You'll know it when you see it," Trebal answered. "Wait here. I'll send Amishkalandris to come get you two when the other delegates are ready." She turned on her heels and walked out, leaving John and Elizabeth behind in the sealed room.

It was the first time they'd been alone together since she fell into the coma. Every second since, they'd been chaperoned by guards or Healers. Or an overly patronizing First Officer. It wasn't his ideal situation, but John decided it was now or never. He paused, though, licking his lips because he was never good at this sort of thing. Hell, he was beyond inept when it came to emotional displays: stumbling over words, losing track of thoughts.

Most guys hated talking about their feelings. John was nearly crippled by it.

Elizabeth spoke before he could say anything. "My father always told me getting into politics would land me in trouble." She looked to John, releasing a deep forcefull breath. "Somehow, I doubt this is what he had in mind."

John kept his voice light, "Hey, if you feel like bailing, just say the word and I can fly that Gateship out of here. Just you, me and the starry skies. What do you say?"

Elizabeth lips twitched into an almost-smirk, the one that John was quickly coming to recognize and love. "Tempting, Major. Very tempting." If he thought she'd go for it for even a split second, he would have pressed harder. Even now as she struggled to cover her anxiety, however, John knew there was no way of talking her out of this. "John," Elizabeth continued softly. "Before we go, I just wanted to say… I wanted to thank you."

John's brows shot up in surprise. "For what?"

"For doing this," Elizabeth answered. "I know you don't want to be here. I know that you only agreed to come because of me. I just wanted to thank you for that."

"You know why I did it, though, right?"

Elizabeth nodded. "To protect me. To do your job."

John shook his head. "No, that's not it at all."

The door opened before he could go further. Amish appeared, followed by two other guards. John felt himself slipping back into soldier mode even as the small not-so-terrified-of-emotions part of him regretted the interruption. Amish nodded first to John and then cast a small surprised smile towards Elizabeth. Even as John watched them exchange greetings, he saw Elizabeth's distracted gaze sliding to him more than once with a cute little look of bewilderment. She'd obviously caught his last remark and was wondering what he'd been about to say before the interruption. It felt oddly good to be the mystery in this relationship for a change.

"Trebal's expecting you," Amish said. "She's already briefed the delegates. Don't expect a warm reception from them."

John grunted. "And here I was hoping for a parade in our honor."

Amish tipped his head towards the exit. "You ready to go, Dr. Weir?"

Elizabeth nodded. "As I'll ever be."

Amish led the other two guards out of the facility. But before John could follow, Elizabeth's hand on his forearm stopped him. The touch – innocent as it was – lit an instant fire in his blood. He turned back to her, eyes connecting immediately in a moment that neither of them expected to be charged with such electricity.

Elizabeth broke the contact first, visibly struggling with words. She took a deep breath and slowly reconnected with his eyes. "What were you going to say? Before Amish came in?"

"What?" John feigned ignorance. "About why I followed you here?"

"Yes," Elizabeth replied. "If it wasn't because you felt it was your duty to protect me, then why?"

"Because," John began. He smiled as he casually walked backwards towards the exit. He opened his hands and motioned wide. "I trust you."

Then he turned and continued walking. The grin faded. Those three words were going to echo in his head for the rest of the day. Mostly because they weren't the words he originally intended to say. Even now, faced with the prospect of death, John felt brave in every way except one. When it came to Elizabeth, he had the courage of a bumbling teenager. She managed to screw with his mind without even trying.

Elizabeth caught up to him. "John?"

"Yeah?"

Her gorgeous smile lit up the room. "I trust you, too."

_Oh yeah. Totally screwed._

* * *

The acoustics in the spacious, circular room holding the delegates had a strange way of echoing throughout the space as clear as church bells. Every word spoken could be heard, even if it was from the other side of the room. John stood on the outskirts, keeping an eye on the proceedings from a little perch that gave him a view of the entire arena.

Two concentric semi-spherical tables were positioned in the center of the room facing each other. One side was occupied by the six top members of the Ancients' delegation. In a domino effect, each Alterian delegate seemed to be more upset than the next one over by Elizabeth's inclusion among them.

If Elizabeth noticed, she didn't acknowledge it. From the moment they first stepped into the room, John knew her attention was equally reserved for the same thing that preoccupied him.

The Wraith were here.

Six Wraith, of varying size, sat serenely in their high arched chairs and stared at Elizabeth like she was a bug about to be crushed under their heels. John stared at them with thinly disguised disgust. They were even more grotesque than the images he had seen, and his trigger finger itched to tap off a couple rounds. It didn't help his anxiety that Elizabeth stood in the center of the room between the tables before both parties. Designated the primary speaker currently holding the floor, Elizabeth had the unenviable position of walking closer to the Wraith than John was comfortable with.

For her part, Elizabeth didn't even flinch or bat an eyelash. "I have come here to deliver only one message," she said firmly, her back rod-straight and voice ice-cold. "The negotiations will not go _one step further_ without an immediate withdrawal of your troops from Athos."

The only female Wraith among the group, the Queen John was told, sat back, titling her head as if inspecting Elizabeth. Apparently she wasn't impressed. "And as I've already told your companions here," she hissed disdainfully, "we have no knowledge of the happenings on Athos, and I care little for accusations when I don't even know what the charges are."

"Let me fill in the blanks then," Elizabeth replied, stepping forward with her hands clasped in front of her, fear absent or ignored. John tensed the grip on his gun, knuckles turning white with strain. "A communiqué from Athos was just issued. In it, they stated that four of your Hive Ships have been culling the planet well through the past two days."

The Queen paused, a moment long enough for John to see a flicker of unease. "We have no knowledge of this."

"You're starting to repeat yourself, your Highness," Elizabeth replied, biting out the title. "In any case, I don't know what implications are worse. That you're a liar, or simply an incompetent leader."

John's eyebrows shot heavenward, and he barely held back an appreciative grin.

The Wraiths' eyes all flashed against the offending remark, and the Queen jumped up, rage emanating off her in waves. Everyone in the room tensed further. Several Wraith stunners were suddenly pointed in Elizabeth's direction, and as a result, several Alterian guns rose in the opposite direction.

The two females stood in the center of the dangerous Mexican stand-off. He wanted to inch his way towards Elizabeth in case the shit hit the fan, but he realized even a slight movement in this thick tension could cause exactly what he feared. Amish stood watch on the other side of the room, while Trebal remained outside communicating with the Aurora. No one he trusted was within arm's reach of Elizabeth if anything went wrong and – cursing under his breath for the breach in her safety – he was forced to watch as Elizabeth stood her ground so close to imminent death.

It took John a second to realize that Elizabeth, the ever-optimistic pacifist, didn't even flinch at the firepower around her. Instead it was almost as if she'd been expecting it - banking on it, even - to get the charged atmosphere she needed to garner attention. She looked confident, in her element. She was purposely using gunboat diplomacy as her way to intimidate the Wraith. It surprised him that Elizabeth was comfortable using that tactic.

She raised an eyebrow, as if daring the Queen to turn this incident violent. "We are here trying to stave off an endless war. I think the Wraith must want that as much as our side does, no matter how much you boast otherwise."

"We are _plentiful,_" the Queen replied, emphasizing the last word. "And the Alterians are dwindling. You need our mercy. It is not our species that stands on the precipice of extinction."

"No?" Elizabeth said. "Your race is up against the smartest species in the history of time. Need I remind you, these people invented the _Stargate._ I shouldn't have to explain the implications of challenging a technologically superior race, especially one as advanced as the Alterians." Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, scrutinizing the Queen. "You know the likely outcome of staying at war with them. That's why you're here. To end this as quickly as possible while you still have the chance. You don't have the resources for an indefinite battle."

The transformation he was seeing in Elizabeth was an eye-opener.

Elizabeth idly stepped forward, heels rapping against the stone floor as she crept closer to the threat the Queen represented. "Which is why I know you'll order your brethren to fall back on their attacks on Athos, and any other planets they're currently culling. You need _our_ mercy. You need our cooperation. Otherwise, this war will stretch onwards until the utter destruction of this entire galaxy. Where's the benefit in that?"

The Queen gave Elizabeth a calculating stare. "If I choose to order a cease-fire on this insignificant planet you've named, what do I get in return?"

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "A chance at negotiating with us some more."

The Queen looked amused. "That's all? A promise of more tedious negotiating? What kind of offer is that?"

Elizabeth smiled bitingly. "Trust me. It's better than the alternative. You don't want to match your five Hive ships against what fire power the Alterians command here. And if you don't order that cease-fire right now, we're done talking." She glanced idly at the group of Wraith standing behind the Queen. "I'll leave you to your own now. Give you some time to think." She nailed the Queen with hardened eyes. "But I expect the Wraith's withdrawal from Athos within the hour. Otherwise I imagine you'll see the hardship of this war more up close and personal than you ever planned."

She turned on her heels, heedless to the stunners pointed her way, and walked down the aisle towards the exit. She passed by John and he took the opportunity to slide into step behind her. An appreciative smirk grew on his lips as he followed Elizabeth with the distinct impression that the Wraith Queen was standing behind them, rendered temporarily speechless.

It was oddly in that moment that John Sheppard suddenly realized he was hopelessly in love.

* * *

The delegation didn't share John's awe of Elizabeth's performance. When they filed into an anteroom for a short recess, they all turned towards Elizabeth at once and John felt nearly as much hostility from them as he had from the Wraith. Foril, the one delegate John already had the dubious pleasure of greeting by name, didn't keep up any pretense this time around. His anger was plain for all to see and John instantly wondered if he was the one responsible for poisoning them.

"That was completely foolish!" Foril barked. "Were you purposely trying to provoke a confrontation out there? It would have ended in the bloodshed of _all_ who were present!"

John rolled his eyes. "They wouldn't have done anything unless the Queen gave the go-ahead, and I don't know if you guys noticed, especially with all the productive comments you were making–"

"We were threatened by our very lives to keep quiet," one of the other delegates argued. "Trebal threatened us. _Us!_"

John suppressed an evil smirk. "Well, it worked didn't it? Sometimes, threats are what get things done. That Queen is probably out there right now wondering if–"

Elizabeth rested a calming hand on his forearm. "You don't have to defend me, John. Especially to these people."

"What do you mean by _these people?_" Foril sounded offended, which only made John's smirk grow.

"She means these people, as in, these people that tried to kill us!"

Foril's eyes flashed defiantly. "If only whoever tried had succeeded!" he spat, and John's fist ached to connect with that smug jaw. "Then we wouldn't be here on the eve of our own destruction. Your precious Dr. Weir here deliberately provoked the only Wraith capable of stemming the tide of war. This treaty is our last chance for survival in this galaxy!"

"And the Wraith were made all too aware of that fact!" Elizabeth argued in a frustrated voice. "You had her thinking she had all the cards in her hands, and even if she did, that is no way to play this. You have to bluff. You have to make them think they're the ones that need the treaty, not the other way around. God, that's basic negotiating skills!"

"Do not preach to us!" Foril responded. "You may have doomed this treaty to end before it ever had the chance to begin. You had no right threatening them with the notion that we would walk out of these negotiations. It was foolish to demand so much, so soon."

"If they don't stop the cullings now," Amish said, breaking his silent post near the entrance to come stand firmly by Elizabeth, "Athos will perish. Millions of lives have already been lost. How many more are you willing to lose? If we aren't here to stop the cullings from ever happening again, what are we here for?"

Foril looked away. The hatred in his eyes settled back on Elizabeth. "You demanded too much, too fast. If the Wraith walk away now–"

Trebal burst through the doors, eliciting the response of several raised guns from every guard nearby. She didn't glance once at any of them, striding forward with near blinding anger. She tossed a small metal communication device wildly across the table, and hissed, "Aurora managed to get a transmission from an old abandoned research station out on Evon. An emergency message had apparently been looping over and over on it for the last three days. It was a call for aid."

"They were attacked three days ago?" Amish repeated, in a dim voice that choked on shock.

Trebal looked over at him. "No one on the planet is responding to Aurora's hails. As far as we can tell, Evon may have been completely _wiped out_ three days ago."

"First, Athos," Amish breathed, growing outraged. "Now, Evon." A flicker of unbridled anger in his eyes reminded John of the cold fury he had seen silently grip his friend back in the weapons training three days ago. It took over his friend's demeanor entirely, and the hardness spread into his voice. "Those were two of our greatest planets."

"They weren't the only ones hit," Trebal replied ominously. "A few of the primitive human planets have been reported to experience an increase of cullings recently. Captain says he thinks the Wraith are trying to end this war, right now with one foul swoop across the entire galaxy."

Elizabeth let the weight of the news sink in. She looked to John and the message in her eyes was one of painful knowledge. "So you were right," she said, voice hollow. "They were using the delegation as a cover to begin a covert ambush."

John swallowed, hating being right in that instant as never before. "Which only means one thing." He held her stare. "These Wraith have no intention of negotiating. They never did."

"You don't know that!" Foril protested. "The assaults could be committed by rogue Wraith that are not under the control of this Queen."

"If she can't control them," Elizabeth replied impatiently, "then her word and any treaty with her is meaningless." She sighed, still coming to grips with harsh reality. "No, this has been a complete waste of time."

John wanted to say something comforting to her, but now was not the time. He shifted the weight of his gun strap across his shoulders. "You did your thing, Elizabeth," he turned to the soldiers in the room, Amish and Trebal specifically. "Now it's time to do ours."

* * *

Gunfire blazed around him. The immediate chaos charged an adrenaline boost the likes of which he'd never experienced before, and John somehow ended up in the position of commanding several of the guards into tactical formation.

While Amish and Trebal covered the soldiers' retreating backs from a precarious position near the heaviest activity of gunfire, the Alterian delegates huddled into a corner behind John, flinching as the noise of the waging battle grew louder and louder. Elizabeth was among them, and when John caught her eye for a moment, he tried everything in his power not to focus on the tinge of fear he saw reflected there. He couldn't focus on that. Not now.

He barked orders left and right, somehow acknowledging a leadership among men he usually avoided at all costs. John guided several of the Alterians through the gunfire, heading straight towards the facility holding the Gateships. Trebal was too busy laying down a suppressive cover fire to give the command and Amish seemed so singularly focused on killing the Wraith that John wondered if he even heard the order.

Surprisingly, though, no one argued with him – not the delegates and certainly not Elizabeth. She accepted his command instantly, blindly trusting him in a way that meant a thousand words to him.

"Elizabeth, get down!"

She immediately dropped, narrowly avoiding a wraith blast.

He took a deep breath, and turned back to the others. He ordered them to retreat further towards the facility doors twenty feet down, a destination that seemed entirely too far away under the circumstances. Although they'd managed to eradicate over half the Wraith's population on the ground, the other half were proving to be annoyingly hard to kill. John had discovered the drained lifeless bodies of over five Alterians since then, and the sight was enough to make him pause in horror during live battle. The dry husks of human bodies was undeniably one of the most horrific images he had ever seen, and John added a whole new item to his ever-growing list of nightmares.

"Sheppard!" Trebal yelled. "Get the delegates to the Gateships now!"

"What the hell do you think I've been trying to do?!"

"Sheppard, go!"

He rolled his eyes, huffed an annoyed breath, and turned back to the delegates. Foril cowered amongst them, and while John normally would have felt satisfaction at seeing the weasel this way, he couldn't scrub the recent images of the Wraith's victims from his mind. He tried to sound more confident than he was as he instructed them to wait for his cover fire before retreating.

"What about you?" Elizabeth asked.

"I'll be fine—"

A wild human scream distracted him. John turned in time to see the anguished expression flutter across Amish's face as he went down from a Wraith blast to the back. The big man collapsed as bullets whizzed by. When Trebal immediately yelled for him, John fought against the sickening feeling that Amish was already dead.

Amish slowly moved though, sending a sharp stab of relief through John. He began crawling at a painfully slow pace to a less open area. He reached a large globe model of the Olesian planet, a center piece of decoration now largely falling apart from the gunfire, and collapsed into a heap behind it. While it gave Amish better cover, the nearest friendly face was ten feet away from him, straight across a field of weapon fire. Amish had just unknowingly closed himself off from help.

"Amish, get out of there!"

The man stared at him for a second. Their gazes held and John saw the realization sink in. Amish swallowed, and then resolutely reloaded his gun. "Go. I'll cover you!"

John cursed silently. "No, you won't! I'll cover _you!_ Crawl your way here!"

Amish refused. He rolled over, pain streaking across his face, and fired at the encroaching group of Wraith. John cursed again for good measure. He turned back to the group of delegates cowering in the corner and was surprised that Elizabeth had somehow separated from them and found her way to him. She was incredibly close, and leaning closer to talk into his ear as the gunfire raged around them, John felt her breath on his ear.

"Where's Trebal and Amish?"

John pointed over to Trebal first: holding off two Wraith entirely on her own; then he nodded over to Amish. "I have to go get him!"

Elizabeth weighed the situation, and then nodded apprehensively. "I'd really prefer if you didn't get shot while doing it."

John glanced at Amish stubbornly holding his ground; wounded and quickly running out of ammo. "I'd prefer a lot of things right now, none of which seems to be happening."

An unexpected explosion rocked the ground, sending both of them to the floor before either of them even realized what had happened. Bits of concrete and rubble landed on top of them. John immediately shook it off, and checked on Elizabeth. She was covered in dirt and grime, but otherwise looked alright.

"What was that?" she yelled through coughs.

A small metal disk skidded across the floor and stopped a few feet from them. A second too late, recognition hit him.

"Grenade!" he shouted, pitching himself on top of Elizabeth.

This explosion kicked the last one's ass. It knocked the wind right out of him as shrapnel pierced his skin, white hot pokers all over his entire body. John screamed, fighting off the darkness ready to overtake him. Pain was the only thing he registered. Disoriented and in agony, in the next few seconds the chaotic images surrounding him played vaguely across his field of vision, ebbing and fading away into spots of blackness.

It wasn't until he felt movement underneath him that he remembered Elizabeth. She pushed him off of her and somewhere in the back of his mind John knew the involuntary and grisly pain filled cry came from him.

"Oh God, John! Can you move?"

He attempted an answer. He wasn't quite sure it was coherent.

"Come on," she muttered into his ear, arms encircling him. "We have to get you out of here."

He grunted an agreement; sucking in a harsh breath as she connected with the torn flesh near his rib cage. His blood smeared on her hands making it harder to hold onto him. Even as she muttered apologies, her grip on him tightened and pain overwhelmed him. She cajoled and prodded, shouting commands into his ear even as she physically forced him to move.

His eyes traveled to the group of delegates. They were quickly retreating into the docking bay without a backwards glance. Even as he cursed them for their cowardice, he wished Elizabeth had been one among them. His legs refused to cooperate, and realizing that he was dead weight, John was coherent enough now to stop Elizabeth and push her away.

"Get out of here," he murmured desperately. "Get to the Gateship!"

Elizabeth froze; her face paling. "I'm not leaving you behind!"

She tried to get a better grip around his middle, but determined now, John fought her off with loosely coordinated hands. His voice proved to be the strongest thing he had, but even it wavered with thick emotion. "I said get out of here!"

"And I said I'm not going to leave you behind!"

"Goddamn it, do you ever listen to a _damn_ thing I say?!"

"I listen, John. I just choose to decline when you're being an ass! Now get up, and move! On your feet, Major!"

"You stubborn woman!"

"You stubborn jackass! Move it, Major. _Now!_"

He had no choice. Grinding his teeth against an unholy amount of pain, John urged his limbs to cooperate and move. Elizabeth pressed hard into his side the entire way, pushing him up and then carrying half his weight when he nearly buckled under the strain. He moved through the pain.

Silence from behind made him look back and belatedly he realized the fighting had stopped. The smell of burnt flesh suggested an ill-demise to the Wraith, and even as he felt cold satisfaction at killing them, he glanced around for human remains. Then a vague memory played across his mind. Sucking in a harsh breath, John tried to turn back to where Amish had last been hiding. Elizabeth's grip tightened and she forced them both forward almost entirely on the fuel of her own legs.

"Amish," John muttered. "He's still back there."

Elizabeth's voice was strained, "Just keep moving, John."

"Amish," John repeated. "He's back there. We don't leave a man behind!"

Urging him forward with her own body weight, Elizabeth's brightly shimmering eyes connected with his. "He's not back there, John. Not anymore. Neither is Trebal." The hitch in her voice and tear-filled eyes negated the possibility that they had somehow escaped. Even as John rebelled against the news, he turned around to confirm it. "John, don't loo–"

The sight of human flesh charred amongst the rubble was the last thing he saw before Elizabeth pushed him beyond the threshold of the facility doors. They closed behind them; sealing away the image that would haunt John for the rest of his life. Just like the memory of drowning men and women, Amish and Trebal were now added to the list of the dead that seemed to be quickly accumulating around him.

Bitter and dizzy, John fought off a wave of nausea. Elizabeth seemed to be equally struggling to contain her emotions. Although she gave in to the luxury of tears, she seemed focused on getting them to one of the nearest Gateships. The delegates had already taken flight in two of them in a rush through the open canopy above.

John looked up at the clear view of the sky and realized he was in no condition to fly them out of there.

Suddenly, a bright blinding explosion covered up the skyline with a fiery display of destruction. He watched as more explosions danced across the bright sky, some small and others big, and realized that while the Wraith down here had been eliminated, the Alterians were working on finishing off the entire fleet of Hive Ships that hovered over Olesia's atmosphere.

_It was fuckin' Star Wars up there. _

A gnawing sickness roiling in his stomach told John he had a better chance of sprouting wings and flying out of here safely than he did of navigating a Gateship safely through that hell up there, especially under his current condition. He wasn't going to be able to do much of anything when he barely had enough effort to stay conscious.

The realization made his knees buckle underneath him, bringing both of them to the ground a few feet away from the nearest Gateship. Shards of pain raced through his body and John screamed bloody murder. They ended up in a heap on the floor. As his vision blurred, he sought Elizabeth's face. For a moment, it looked like Elizabeth intended on crawling to the ship on her hands and knees if need be, dragging him alongside, but then she turned back to him with naked desperation in her eyes.

"Please, John," she begged. "Just a little bit further."

"I can't," he murmured, pain hitching his breath. "I can't move, Elizabeth. I damn-well can't fly."

"Yes, you can! You just have to try! Try for _me,_ John."

He would if he could. He'd do anything for her, but the fact remained that his vision kept fading and the pain was ebbing away. John was an experienced enough soldier to realize that this was not a good sign. He was going into shock and even as he felt the warmth of Elizabeth's hands on his chest, John was beginning to feel incredibly cold.

"Stay with me, John. I need you to stay awake!"

He breathed in deeply, inhaling the familiar scent of her. He had no idea when her fragrance had been catalogued in his mind, but it served a purpose now by lulling his senses into a blanket of comfort. He faced Elizabeth with the best smile he could manage.

She looked devastated. "I swear to God I'll never forgive you if you die on me, John Sheppard. Stay awake. _Stay with me!_"

"I am with you," he mummered. "Just you and me and the starry skies, remember?" The skies above them were more fiery and explosive than starry, but he wasn't one to quibble over details. It was the first two points that mattered anyway. He took another deep breath. "I think I'd like to say something while I still can."

"Don't you do this to me!" Elizabeth said, suddenly turning furious through desperate tears. "Don't even think about it!"

"You don't know," John began, struggling to breathe, "what I'm going to say."

"I know you well enough," Elizabeth replied. "You just have to–"

He used every bit of energy he had left to lean forward to capture her lips with his. It was faint and light, but then Elizabeth leaned in and instantly pressed herself into him, one hand coming up to support and cradle his head. There was no hesitation in her response, and that meant so much to him he couldn't even put it into words. It wasn't a particularly long kiss or one that was as exploratory or passionate as the first one he shared with her, but John still found this one exceptional because it was Elizabeth. The real Elizabeth. Not a doped up version of her, but _her._

No hold's bar, Elizabeth was kissing him of her own volition. It sent an insane thrill through him, surprising in the fact that even now, moments before darkness claimed him, she managed to do what should have been the impossible: she made him feel alive.

He just wished they'd gotten the chance to do more.

Silent tears slid down her cheeks when she pulled away. "I've been waiting for you do that for what seems like forever," she whispered, words choked and nearly inaudible.

"I've been _wanting_ to do that for what seems like forever," John added with a weak grin. "Next time, though," he took another deep breath, fighting against the pain. "Don't wait for me to get my act together."

"You pull through this," Elizabeth promised, "I'll jump you the first chance I get."

John choked a laugh. "You really do know… how to motivate a guy."

One of her hands cupped his face as the other ran soothingly through his hair. He closed his eyes and they fluttered open again. Elizabeth seemed to finally find an acceptance in the action because she started to silently breathe words of comfort to him.

She told him everything was going to be okay. She would take care of him. He was going to be all right. She whispered meaningless nothings to him that meant more than so many meaningful somethings in his life. His eyes flickered open and closed, and he let himself believe the lies. Even when he knew that he was abandoning Elizabeth to survive on her own, he closed his eyes once more, letting Elizabeth's words feel like the truth.

The last thing he heard was the whispered words of love.

A bright light suddenly blinded everything in sight, and then... nothingness claimed him.

--


	6. Chapter 6

Consciousness returned slowly.

The first thing John became aware of was a hand caressing his face. Then words. Then he pried open his eyes and saw her. As he focused, he was vaguely aware of the etched concern on her face, but her anxiety swiftly vanished and a beautifully breath-taking smile spread upon her lips. She turned from him and called for a Healer.

He tried to move. "Wha–"

Elizabeth gently pushed him back down, and a feather under her touch, John subsided. "You need to rest," she said firmly. "You're all right, John. You're in Atlantis."

His throat felt scratchy and raw, but otherwise there was a pleasant numbness and euphoria that John immediately recognized as the effects of drugs. _Really good drugs._ Elizabeth held a glass of water for him to sip from, and he peered at her over the straw. "What happened?" he asked, moistening his dry lips. "The last thing I remember is the Gateship hanger on Olesia."

Elizabeth set the cup down and reached over to a run soothing hand through his hair. That felt nice. Really nice. He liked it when she did that. "That was a week ago, John," she informed him.

There was a tenderness in her eyes he thought he'd been hallucinating moments before his… non-death. Now, he soaked it up even as he realized some of his giddiness was probably the drug's effect. He smiled, flashing his big ol' pearly whites, and looked around at the familiar setting of Atlantis.

"What are we doing here?"

Elizabeth heavily sighed. "The Aurora beamed us onboard just as you passed out on Olesia. You were put in a stasis pod immediately and then the Atlantis Healers got to work on you once we got back here. You were in hibernation for four days, and then in a coma for another three." Her smile cracked with sarcasm and a hint of fear. "You sure know how to show a girl a good time."

"Just wait," he replied, sloppily grinning. "You haven't seen my best stuff yet."

Her eyes softened and the smile faded. "You scared the hell out of me, you know that?"

John grasped one of her hands. "Hey. Sorry. Didn't mean to."

She blinked hard, pushing back the tears, and then smiled down at him again. "All that matters is that you're awake now. You're all right."

One of the Healers, a tall blonde man with bright blue eyes and an exuberant step to his stride, sidled up to the bed. John vaguely remembered his name from his last convalesce in the infirmary: Holland. He immediately began examining John with barely a preamble greeting.

John's mood darkened; he wanted nothing more than some private time with Elizabeth. She stepped back, though, allowing Holland to work. Holland's face was decidedly less pretty to look at. Elizabeth stood at the foot of his bed, eyes glued to him in a way that he never wanted her to look at anybody else like.

Holland stepped in front of his view of Elizabeth, and John fought back a scowl. "So, a three day coma?" John said, in a light, groggy voice. "Don't tell me the Healers are losing their touch now, Doc."

Holland reacted to the title, well accustomed to the nickname from his last interaction with John. "You've been medically treated for a near-fatal illness for the third time in so many weeks," Holland said reproachfully, holding his scanner up to John's open eye. John didn't argue with it because in the next second, he moved out the way and allowed Elizabeth back into sight. He pulled out another scanning device and let it hover over John's body, and continued in a lecturing tone. "You can't expect there _not_ to be repercussions in your treatment. You were quite lucky. Dr. Weir was… insistent on your recovery." He glanced back at Elizabeth. "It well motivated many of us to work harder for your recuperation."

Elizabeth blushed slightly, turning away in embarrassment.

John started to comment when Holland stepped closer, invading his personal space in a way that he preferred only Elizabeth did. He peered down into John's eyes as if studying a fascinating bug. "That said, Major Sheppard," he said, "please remember this one little fact: we are not working with magic here. Your body is recovering nicely, but if you put it through anymore immediate stress," he pulled back, and looked down at John with a chiding expression. "And it'll fold under the strain. So, do us all a favor? Don't go getting yourself nearly killed again. Forget about the injuries at that point, our treatments will surely kill you."

John meekly nodded. Holland pulled out a long needle from one of the nearby drawers and John's eyes widened with apprehension. "Lesson learned, Doc." He grimaced. "No need to punish me."

Holland gave him a silencing stare. "You need to rest." Thankfully, he slid the needle into John's IV drip instead of… elsewhere on his body. The colorless injection mixed with the reddish liquid already present in the IV, and John's body reacted to it almost instantly. A heavy fog descended on him within seconds, pulling at the edges of his vision, forcing him to fade away. He blinked, seeking Elizabeth again, and stubbornly fought off sleep. "Rest," Holland ordered.

The Healer moved toward Elizabeth and they spoke quietly for a moment. John's unfocused eyes settled on her again and for the first time since waking, he noticed the pinched expression on her face and the aura of utter exhaustion that emanated from her. She looked like she hadn't slept in days and her eyes were conspicuously red-rimmed around the edges.

Guilt kicked through him. The last few days must have been pure hell on her, just as they had been on him when she was the one in the bed. As the Healer left, John fought through the grogginess more to reassure her than because of any usual resistance he had at being forcefully put to sleep. Although that was happening all too often for his own tastes lately.

"Hey," he managed in a half encouraging, half sleepy tone. "I thought you promised to jump me the moment I pulled through."

"You're not jump-worthy," the amusement in her voice was bliss to his ears. "Yet," she added playfully.

John smiled. "Give me a few hours and then I'll promise I'll let you can have your wicked way with me."

"Try a few _days,_" Elizabeth chided. She brushed a kiss across his forehead. "Sleep, John. I'll be here when you wake up."

John fought against the numbness. "Give me a kiss first. A real kiss."

"I said you aren't jump-worthy yet."

"I'm not asking for acrobatics, just a kiss... The acrobatics come later."

She sighed, but he caught the smile she tried to hide. He gave her his best puppy-dog look, the one most women found irresistible for some unknown reason. And he didn't feel one iota of shame in using it. It worked. Amusement lightened up the deep wrinkles of worry on her forehead, around her mouth and eyes; shedding ten years off her in an instant. She leaned down to kiss him and even drugged to the gourd, John managed to raise his hand to cup the back of her head, holding her there for longer than the quick peck on the lips that she had intended to give.

It was drug laden and light, but the last thing John felt before oblivion pulled him under was the feel of her lips on his.

Pure Heaven.

* * *

Unfortunately, the next time he woke up, the euphoric drugs had worn off, and John quickly realized he had to deal with the full weight of reality again. It wasn't nearly as much fun.

"The Aurora departed about a day after we arrived," Elizabeth informed him. She sat next to him while he ate lunch in bed, and the longing he had for blue Jell-O immediately disappeared when he heard the words. He turned back with an arched eyebrow, silently urging her to fill in the blanks. "I know," she replied. "They didn't even get a moment's rest. They just got here and then immediately left."

"What for?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I don't know. It was classified. Captain Loren couldn't tell me the specifics of the mission, but the look on his face… When I saw him off, he looked oddly… optimistic. I hadn't seen him like that since before, well, before I had to tell him about Trebal."

John nodded, voice suddenly closing off at the reminder that Trebal and Amish had both perished on Olesia. Amish had been a good friend to him and while Trebal's attitude took some getting used to, the sharp pang of grief hinted to John that he'd grown to like her anyway. They were good people and neither deserved the fate dolled out to them. He'd seen too many good people die lately. His mind darkening with the thought, he turned back to Elizabeth in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

"He looked optimistic before leaving?" He questioned. "Why?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't know. The entire Aurora crew was denied any information about their mission. Apparently only the Captain and the High Council here in Atlantis know the details. They do seem strangely hopeful, though, especially Janus. He said it could even potentially turn the tide of war in our favor."

"Really?" John asked, holding his pessimism in check.

What type of mission could promise such a boastful result? He couldn't think of anything, but then again, he wasn't in the same league as the Ancients. Whatever this classified mission was, John hoped it was as good as a miracle because right now, a miracle was probably the only thing that could save the Alterians.

Athos, Evon and a handful of other planets had already perished under the full-blown assault of Wraith attacks. The Olesian civilization barely survived the space battle that waged over their world because the Aurora and the two other warships had made quick work of the five Hive ships. While the Aurora immediately left to ferry the delegates back to the safety of Atlantis and – even as grateful as John was for the ride, he detested the wasted use of such a precious resource – the other two warships rushed to the aide of any nearby suffering planets.

By the time the battleships arrived at any of the besieged planets, however, the Wraith had already culled and destroyed everything in sight. John heard the grim fate of Athos, so recently prized as one of the greatest Alterian planets in the galaxy. Now, it was utterly destroyed. The civilization would take centuries to recover, if ever, he was told, because too much destruction had been wrought. It was like that with several planets across the galaxy. In some parts, the cullings were still ongoing.

Elizabeth gripped his hand, attempting to pull him out of his dark thoughts. "Hey, you okay?"

John forced a smile. "Just hoping the Aurora completes its mission."

Elizabeth nodded. "They have one week to make it back to Atlantis. The Council has already decided to order several transport ships out across the galaxy to shepherd numerous Alterians back here. They're starting a galaxy-wide retreat, John. If the Aurora doesn't return with some _mind-numbingly_ great news, they're going to travel through the Stargate back to Earth. It's really happening." She sighed, desperate and unbelieving. "This is really happening."

John squeezed her hand in reassurance, but couldn't think of a thing to say.

* * *

The day before John was to be released from the infirmary, Janus came by for a visit, once again exhausted enough to fall off his feet. John wondered when the scientist had last slept. He knew that Janus was working on several critical projects concurrently, all of which the Atlantians relied heavily upon. Still, he slipped into the infirmary late into the nurses' skeleton shift, looking ready to collapse if he didn't sit down immediately.

John nearly offered his own bed to the man. Instead, pasting on a friendly smile, he motioned to the nearest chair. "Hey, Janus. Long time, no see."

Janus smiled ruefully. "I assure you, Major, I wanted to see how you were doing well before now, but I've unfortunately been preoccupied with other concerns. I hope you weren't offended by my absence."

John raised an eyebrow. "Janus, out of every Alterian here on Atlantis, you're the one guy that doesn't owe me an apology for _anything._ Don't even think twice about it."

Janus nodded, rubbing a hand over his exhausted face. "I take it some of my fellow compatriots haven't presented you with the best image of us?"

John reached for his glass of water and took a sip. "I don't know who I dislike more. The High Council here in Atlantis, or the group of delegates that were sent to Olesia. One's preventing us from saving the future lives of our expedition members and the other group is most likely responsible for poisoning us."

"You've managed to name two of the most arrogant groups of Alterians in the entire galaxy. Please don't judge the masses by our politicians, Major."

John snorted a laugh before lifting his eyes back to Janus. "I know your time's precious, so that means this visit has a purpose. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing," he replied. "It's more of what I can do for you."

John tilted his head, curious. "Oh yeah? With what?"

Janus glanced around before leaning forward conspiratorially. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I may have figured out a way to save your people's lives, Major."

John's throat dried out. "You've got another time-machine?"

"No. Unfortunately, most of my research was destroyed by the others. I only managed to salvage a small portion of my work, and that too, in secrecy. No. Another time-machine is out of the question."

"Then how are you going to help me save my people?"

"I fear now is not the time to tell you," Janus said, glancing around the infirmary with suspicious eyes. "Too many people come and go about here like the wind. And I have no way of knowing if any of them have placed listening devices here."

John sat back, abruptly alerted. "Why would anyone want to spy on me?"

"The same reason someone tried to poison you, I imagine," Janus replied. "You're not fully trusted here, Major. And while I'd like to think the danger you represented to a few of our more closed-minded citizens has passed, especially with the termination of the delegation, you are far from safe. You have enemies here. And some of them are very powerful, and very vindictive."

"We haven't done anything!" John said in a rising voice. Janus immediately hushed him and John sighed. The outraged inflection in his words remained. "We have done nothing but try to help since the moment we stepped foot on Atlantis. And all it's done is gotten us on a first-name basis with every Healer between here and the other side of the galaxy! We haven't done anything to deserve suspicion!"

"You're an unknown factor in a volatile situation, Major," Janus explained. "You don't have to do anything to look suspicious. The imagination and distrust of others will do everything for you."

John exhaled sharply. "So we're still in danger."

Even though it wasn't a question, Janus nodded. "Which is why I can't speak to you here. Too many prying eyes and ears. When you get released from the infirmary tomorrow, come immediately to my laboratory with Elizabeth. I will tell you then how I may help you save your expedition." He pulled back, smiling. "In a way, the idea was inspired by your convalescent stasis on the Aurora. Stasis pods. They truly are remarkable things."

John nodded, even though he was utterly bewildered by the man's train of thought. What the hell did Stasis pods have to do with anything? He still had the gut feeling he could trust the man though, which was more than he could say for virtually any other still-breathing Ancient he'd meet so far. Something about Janus just screamed of decency and honor, and Elizabeth had remarked several times that his enthusiasm and brilliant mind had reminded her of several of the scientists from the expedition. Although, maybe the real reason he trusted Janus so much was because Elizabeth appeared to? He knew they had managed to become fast friends in the short time spent here in Atlantis, even more so while John had been slumbering in a coma.

Whatever the case may be, John knew this man was quite possibly the only chance they had in this place of preventing future deaths. "Janus," John began, "I don't think I've said this to you before, but I – we, Elizabeth and me – we really appreciate everything you're doing. We know you could get into trouble for this. It's isn't even your people that you're trying to save."

Janus sighed, looking strung out and weary. "No, but it isn't entirely selfless either. By ensuring your expedition's survival, I ensure the survival of Atlantis as well. I won't lie to you. That has factored into my eagerness to help you."

"You know what?" John shrugged. "I don't care why you're helping us. Just that you're helping is good enough. You're a good guy, Janus."

"You too, Major," Janus replied. He raised an eyebrow then paused. His expression turned cautiously curious. "You and Elizabeth… I was wondering if you two… um, are together now?"

John cocked his head and pursed his lips. "Uh, kinda," he said ever-so-eloquently. "Um, yeah. We are."

Janus nodded, swallowing tightly and looking away with a pinched expression on his face. John instantly realized the implications. It seemed his earlier suspicions from weeks ago had been right on target. Janus did have a thing for Elizabeth. John found he didn't blame the guy.

When Janus finally recovered, he quickly pasted on a fake smile. "I had suspected. She was quite distraught when you were brought in here with those wounds. Not that those injuries weren't severe or alarming, just that… she was very upset. Very upset."

John looked away, feeling guilty for things he hadn't been able to control.

Janus anxiously glanced around the room as awkward silence descended. He cleared his throat. "She's a special lady. Elizabeth."

John smiled. "You don't have to tell me that."

Janus nodded, voice lightening. "Good, because I know I may not look like a man that would normally intimidate a soldier as experienced as you," he leaned forward, amusement and a hint of something far darker illuminating his eyes. "But I can do a great number of creative things. Some of which involve metal probes of a discomforting nature. Be sure to take good care of Elizabeth, Major. Otherwise, I assure you, you'll live to regret it."

John blinked. _Did I just get threatened by a geek?_

Janus rose to his full height as if his earlier exhaustion had completely abated. "Tomorrow then, Major?" he said lightly, as if the words _metal probes_ had never been mentioned at all.

John nodded once, still bewildered and – yeah, okay – slightly freaked out. Janus quickly shuffled out of the infirmary. John smirked, amused but not surprised that Elizabeth had managed to bring out the protective streak in more than just him. He settled back into his pillows and wished she was here with him. But he remembered the perpetual state of exhaustion she had been in, sitting in those uncomfortable chairs for hours on end.

He was thankful she'd taken the Healers orders to heart and gone to rest in her quarters. Still, he missed her presence. He usually felt suffocated hanging around with his previous girlfriends for any extended period of time. A weekend trip was considered commitment. But around Elizabeth, he couldn't seem to get enough.

Strangely, that thought didn't freak him out one bit.

John felt a rush of newfound maturity surge through him. He closed his eyes and dreamed of a luminous smile.

* * *

The next day, upon his release, John and Elizabeth headed to Janus' laboratory. The City outside the confines of the infirmary was absolutely brimming with activity and a fair amount of anxiety. He could feel the pressure of it bearing down on him as he walked side-by-side with Elizabeth. Everyone around them rushed about with jittery nerves and near-shattered composure.

No news had arrived from the Aurora yet, but hope still managed to stubbornly linger. John heard whispers about the mysterious classified mission echoing amidst the conversations between people passing by them in the hallway. It had quickly garnered the simple title of the 'Aurora Mission' and given a certain type of reverence. He quickly realized it now represented the last beckon of hope to the Alterians, and even as they prepared for an evacuation, he could feel the silent promise of what the Aurora Mission proved to be for them… and the City.

He had to give the Ancients credit – they were resolute in their fight until there was absolutely no hope left. He found that optimism honorable. Then he remembered Janus' forewarning about the threat still remaining to them.

Any one of these Alterians could represent a danger.

Even as part of him felt sorry for the hell they were currently going through, a bigger part of him was still outraged at having to deal with their bullshit like this. The danger they faced was two-fold, and he didn't know which direction the attack might come from: the Wraith bearing down on them or an Ancient innocuously passing by in the corridor. Worse yet, John wasn't sure which threat was more detestable: being hunted as food or being hunted out of paranoia.

He sighed, exasperated. Elizabeth glanced at him, then grabbed one of his hands as they wandered through the hallways, linking her fingers through his. The closeness, the gentle, innocent touch was incredibly distracting. And it certainly didn't help his concentration when she leaned into him.

This public display from her surprised him. He never would have pegged Dr. Elizabeth Weir to condone such a thing except in private. But here, in this time, impropriety ceased to exist. John was suddenly glad he never had to serve under her for that reason alone. In this place and time, when people glanced at them, they knew John and Elizabeth were together. It made sense to them.

Every time she reached for his hands or sought comfort from him with just a touch, look or a kiss, it made sense to John too. He felt this notion solidify in his brain with undeniable weight. She was his lifeline to sanity; even as she made him feel anything but every time she brushed up against him. John found comfort in her that he hadn't known was possible. He physically _ached_ to touch her – really touch her.

He fought the sudden urge to veer off their present course towards Janus' lab and find the nearest broom closet. The thought was more appealing than it had any right to be. Even as they walked and John inhaled the scent of her hair – god, he really did like the flowery smell of it – he forced his mind to stay focused on the task at hand.

"You think Janus is going to talk to us for long?" John asked, glancing curiously at Elizabeth.

She looked surprised by the question. "Probably. Why?"

He sighed dramatically. "Just wanting you to make good on your promise sometime this century."

"Promise?" she repeated, bewildered.

He smirked. "To jump me, of course."

She laughed and tightened her grip on his hand, then abruptly stopped outside the laboratory's doorway.

Inside, Janus' lifeless body lay sprawled across the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's note: This chapter was originally rated NC-17 for sexual situations. However, I believe Fanfiction dot net doesn't allow such chapters, so those specific scenes have been removed entirely. I've still kept the "M" rating for any stray lines that mention sexual situations, but I think this is a fairly clean version and I'm probably being too cautionary with that rating. Anyway, for those of you that prefer a clean story: enjoy!_

_For those of you that don't, check out the websites of "Command Dynamics", "Wraithbait", or "Atlantica Fanfiction Archieve" for the complete and unedited version of this chapter. Just google them up in conjuction with "Stargate: Atlantis", and I'm sure you'll find the link. (Darn Fanfiction dot net for not allowing me to put in a direct link myself!) The story is still archieved under the same penname at all places - Irony Rocks._

* * *

It took only half an hour before the Atlantians had gathered all the evidence they needed. Samples were collected from the pool of congealed blood on the floor, fiber particles were picked up from the surrounding areas, and a small area of the laboratory was cordoned off for further investigation. The body was removed. In a large metallic box hovering three feet above the floor, it floated out into the hallway where a large group of people had already gathered to gawk at the spectacle.

John paced across an isolated area off to the side. "We had nothing to do with this!"

Melia glanced up at him, eyes opaque. "No one is insinuating that you did, Major Sheppard."

John stopped and turned to face her. "Then why are you asking me the same questions over and over again? I told you, Elizabeth and I discovered him like this! Somebody had gotten to Janus long before we came across his body."

Melia looked down at the data device in her hand, annoyance fluttering. "Believe it or not, Major, but the Alterians as a race are not blind and stupid. We know full well when Janus died. Within the hour we will find out even more forensic information. I am not questioning you as a suspect."

John paused. "Oh," he muttered, meekly. "I just thought–"

"You just thought that we are all judgmental and close minded?" Melia hissed, her normal pleasant disposition entirely buried under hostility. It surprised him. "That we would see you, and then the body, and assume that one equated the other? Give us more credit than that, Major. We are fully aware that, until half-an-hour ago, you and Dr. Weir were clear across Atlantis in the infirmary."

John felt one knot loosen in his stomach, and then another wind back up when he glanced across the expanse of the laboratory at Elizabeth. She looked pale and tired; being separately interrogated by Moros, John couldn't blame her. It wasn't bad enough that she'd just stumbled onto the dead body of yet another one of her friends, but Moros piled on the shit with his endless barrage of question. It looked like he was hammering away at her without a moment's pause. John wanted nothing more than to march across the room and _show_ Moros exactly where he could stick those fucking questions, consequences be damned.

"Major Sheppard, did you hear me?"

John snapped back to Melia. "What?"

She forced out a harsh breath. "I understand this is a difficult time for you but please, just for a moment, imagine what it is like for us – for the people that have known Janus his entire life. He was my friend and I'm standing here, mere moments after his death, trying to get information out of you so I can catch the people responsible for this atrocity." Her voice was ice cold, "It would be greatly appreciated if you could concentrate on what's happening here."

Chastened, John turned to face her. "Uh, yeah. Of course."

Breathing deeply, Melia took a moment to gather herself. "Is there anyone you suspect of have ill-feelings towards Janus? Have you seen anyone say or do anything derogatory towards him?"

John kept the name 'Moros' to himself, mainly because he had the gut feeling the answer would do nothing but test Melia's patience even more. He shrugged. "Janus was good guy. I thought everybody liked him."

For a moment, her bright brown eyes threatened to turn watery on him. John froze. He never could handle a crying woman. She recovered, though, blinking back the tears and the ice in his chest relaxed a bit. "Yes. It is true. Everyone in Atlantis knew Janus, personally or by reputation. He was a man hard to overlook even in a city of millions. Few could ever resist his zealous charm and intellect."

John didn't mean to sound callous, but the present circumstances proved otherwise. He wisely kept that remark to himself as well. Instead, he shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to another. "I'm sorry," he said, eyes turning sympathetic. "For your loss."

Melia nodded. "The loss is the city's, not mine. He was one of our greatest scientists."

"Somehow, I don't think you're mourning the loss of his work."

Melia glanced up at him with grief-stricken eyes and then quickly away. "So you cannot think of anyone that would wish harm to Janus?" she said, swiftly turning the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Anybody at all?"

John licked his lips, hesitating. He immediately thought of the nameless threat in Atlantis, coming from one of the Alterians here hell bent on making wild accusations against him and Elizabeth. And he knew – just knew, without a shadow of a doubt – that Janus was killed for attempting to help the 'human spies'. Someone must have been listening in on the conversation last night, just as Janus had feared, and decided to take action against the scientist before he had the chance to put whatever plan he had into effect. Janus had figured out a way to save the future expedition. John realized with a sickening twist of guilt that Janus' death was the price they all paid for it.

"Major?" Melia said, but the sharpness in her voice was replaced by concern. "I asked if you knew if Janus had any enemies?"

John stared, scrutinizing her. A moment latter, he overrode the cynical voice in his head for once and decided to trust Melia. "Last night," he began, clearing his throat. He'd probably regret it later on, but if it meant finding Janus' killer, then John really had no choice. "Janus stopped by the infirmary. He wanted us – Elizabeth and me – to come by his laboratory today, but he wouldn't tell me why. He was paranoid that someone might overhear him."

Melia's brows furrowed. "He was worried that someone would overhear him? About what?"

Without Janus, there was no point in keeping a secret plan a secret. It's not like John knew the details of it anyway. Only Janus knew and that knowledge would go with him to the grave.

John took a deep breath, regretting what he was about to say, but not enough to stop himself. "It was probably something to do with helping save my expedition. He said he'd found a way, although he didn't explain it. I _really_ wish now he'd just told me how. Something about Stasis Pods."

Melia sucked in a harsh breath. "He was going to defy the Council?"

John answered, turning defensive. "He was doing a good thing. He was trying to save people's lives. Everybody here seems to overlook that little tidbit _a lot._"

"There are rules–"

"Rules are meant to be broken, Melia," John interrupted, frustration flaring. "You guys don't get it, do you? People are going to die because you aren't willing to do a damn thing to stop it. That's as bad as walking up to every single person in my expedition and putting a bullet in their head. Forty-three people, Melia. That's blood on the Council's hands anyway you look at it."

Melia swallowed hard and turned away with brightly shimmering eyes. Seeing her pain made John feel like an ass even if the words he said were a hundred percent true. He shouldn't have pushed her like this, especially not now…it made him no better than Moros. John took a deep breath, reined in his frustration and glanced back at Melia. Before he could apologize though, a loud clatter at the opposite end of the room grabbed his attention.

Elizabeth looked furious and close to tears. She grabbed at some metallic briefcase in Moros' hands and pulled it free from him, shouting: "You are not going to destroy his life's work!" Moros made a grab back for the briefcase, but Elizabeth pulled it behind her. "No! I won't let you disrespect him like that."

Surprised, John immediately started towards them. "Elizabeth–"

Two armed guards suddenly raised their weapons; one trained on him and the other on Elizabeth. John froze, but Elizabeth seemed oblivious to the threat. Her eyes bore into Moros with a type of unbridled hatred that he was shocked to see.

Moros' expression closed off. "Give me the briefcase."

"For what?" Elizabeth replied, outraged. "So you can destroy the last bit of him? Janus was good man. He didn't deserve this, and at the very least, his work deserves to survive."

"That work–" Moros spat "–is unlawful to the word of the Council! We told him to destroy any and all material relating to his time-traveling device. He had assured the Council that he had! Now we find that he was in possession of a reservoir of research?" His face contorted into utter hatred. "His word was as meaningless as his life!"

The sound of the slap reverberated across the room.

Moros stood, red faced from more than just embarrassment. The hand print left scalding white marks across his scarlet cheeks, but it wasn't Elizabeth's print. No. Melia stood near him, cradling a smarting hand. It was the pure definition of a bitch-slap if John had ever seen one. Elizabeth's temper apparently deflated at the unexpected action, but then the other woman took up the slack.

Melia's eyes seemed to bore furious holes into Moros' receding hairline. "You will not speak about him that way," she said, in a low threatening voice. "He was a great man. His life meant something – it was dedicated to the protection of Atlantis. You will not belittle that!"

Moros was, for once, entirely speechless.

John decided to take the opportunity that the stunned silence provided to sneak his way towards Elizabeth. The guards noticed, fingers tensing tightly over their triggers, but one well-timed glare from Melia subsided them both instantly. John quickly shuffled past them and came to stand beside Elizabeth. He could see the toll of the situation beginning to take its effect on her. She looked devastated. While all eyes were on Melia and Moros, John reached down and intertwined his fingers with hers as covertly as he could. He gave it a squeeze, and mouthed the words "you okay?" to her.

Elizabeth faintly nodded, and a moment later she turned to speak to the audience at large, more evenly than before. "His work deserves respect. You can't destroy it."

Melia turned back to her, eyes softening; before they settled on the metallic briefcase Elizabeth clutched in her other hand. Melia walked up to them and raised one of her hands in a silent request. Elizabeth hesitated momentarily before bringing up the briefcase and allowing it to change custody. Melia regarded it with resolute eyes for a moment before turning back to Elizabeth with an expression of utter empathy. Something passed between the two women – some unspoken agreement and understanding – and then Melia slowly turned back to Moros.

"Guards," she addressed, although her attention remained riveted on Moros. "Escort Dr. Weir and Major Sheppard back to their quarters. I expect there not to be any further trouble."

The sentries hesitated for a second, unsure gazes passing over Melia and Moros. When Moros made no move to counteract the command, the guards leveled their guns towards the ground and waited for John and Elizabeth to join them. John took a last glance at the stand-off between the two High Council members and then nudged Elizabeth to move. She didn't want to cooperate.

"Elizabeth," he began, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Let's leave the nice Alterians to their business."

Elizabeth swallowed again. Then her gaze pinned Moros with a cold warning. "Someday you'll realize that doing what's right means risking consequences. Great thinkers have to dare to do what others won't. One day you'll realize what that means and then you'll look back at today and see your mistake." She kept her emotions tightly reined, but John could feel her hand trembling. "You mark my words on that."

Moros' gaze shifted from Melia to Elizabeth, but John didn't give him an opportunity to respond. With one strong tug between their interlinked fingers, he urged Elizabeth to move. The first step was the only one needing prodding. Once they began, John and Elizabeth quickly strode out of the tension-filled room with the two guards in tow. They unapologetically pushed their way through the audience gathered outside, and left behind two glowering Council members in what was assuredly going to be a fight for the record books.

* * *

The walk back to their quarters was quiet.

Elizabeth stalked forward with barely contained emotions; eyes threatening to let loose with a stream of tears that were held in check only by sheer righteous anger. Her hand had slipped free of John's hold at one point but being so focused on getting away from Janus' laboratory, he didn't notice until well after the fact.

Now, the distance between them seemed glaringly obvious. John felt like he was dealing with a whole new side of her – one that he didn't know how to handle. No matter how well he'd gotten to know her in the small amount of pressurized time they'd spent together, John was quickly discovering a new layer to her every day. She could be entirely playful or all business. Flirtatious or serious. Stoic or wrought with emotions. He was dealing with the last one now.

He didn't blame her. A part of him even wanted to join in letting the injustice of every single death surrounding them hit him with the weight it deserved. But if he did that, he'd go dark. He'd go to a place he wasn't sure he could pull himself out of. It was a survivor's instinct that made him pull away from that feeling. Even now, with Janus dead little more than an hour, John was doing his best to avoid thinking about it.

Elizabeth seemed intent on doing the opposite. All the dying around her was finally catching up and even though she deftly avoided his gaze, John could see it clearly in her eyes. Janus had been the last straw.

One of the guards spoke up. "We're having one of the security teams run a quick sweep of your quarters. By the time we get there, it should be complete. Will you be needing the two rooms or just one?"

This time, John didn't hesitate to answer the question. "One."

Elizabeth's head snapped over to him in surprise – at the response or the swiftness it was delivered in, he wasn't sure.

John answered her unspoken question. "I'm not leaving you alone right now." He quickly went on to justify it with something less intimate in undertones. "We're still in danger, remember? I'm not leaving you alone for the night."

She wordlessly nodded, but quickly turned away before John could recognize any emotion she might have had to the implications of his suggestion. They walked in strained silence for another few minutes and the entire time John had the overwhelming feeling that a giant chasm was somehow opening between them. She was distant and aloof; John had no idea how to breach that canyon. It felt awkward, something he hadn't felt around her in what seemed like forever.

The guards guided them back to their designated quarters. Elizabeth hesitated outside her doorway for one second before she promptly opened the door and entered. She left it open for John to come through. It wasn't the most welcoming admittance but it wasn't a rejection either. He ran a hand through his hair, nodded towards the guards who took their stations on either side of the door, and followed her inside.

She hadn't turned on the light. As the door closed behind him, John felt uncomfortably out of place as his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkened room. Unlike his extended stay in the infirmary, Elizabeth had been given the opportunity to stay in the personal quarters. There were hints of her throughout the room: a silky scarf thrown over the chair, standard hair accessories on the bedside table, the large bed even had a good portion of it covered with reams of papers. It all seemed vaguely disorienting and comforting at the same time. Elizabeth had actually had time to settle into this room.

She turned on the light in the bathroom, slightly illuminating a portion of the entire area. He could see her silhouette in the doorway and the sight unexpectedly made his chest tighten.

She turned back to face him. "I'll be out in a minute."

John nodded mutely.

She retreated into the bathroom, and a moment latter, he heard the sound of water. He exhaled sharply and looked awkwardly around, wondering what to do. This was not the situation he had been hoping for this morning. Janus' death had changed things. He wasn't sure how, but he knew why.

Every time they got a break, something had to come along to screw with it. It was more than a little annoying and despite the realization that he was quickly falling for this woman, a part of him also realized he barely knew her. These past few weeks may have seemed like a lifetime, but they weren't.

He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it across the nearest chair, and stretched, trying to relax his tense shoulders. He spent a second wondering if he should turn on the lights, but the darkness seemed to match his mood better. He glanced out the window, taking in the unique underwater view. It was becoming familiar now, but in this room, it suddenly felt like the only thing that was. He spent the next few minutes idly cataloging the various things in her room, especially the odd little pocket watch – obviously from Earth – that was placed between the pages of an open book. He fingered it for a second in curiosity before letting the chain slip back onto the creamed colored pages.

Idly, he realized he hadn't been this awkward in a girl's bedroom since high school. The thought made him feel appropriately pathetic.

When the bathroom door opened, Elizabeth emerged with a freshly scrubbed face: pale cheeks and red-rimmed around the eyes. She'd been crying.

"Elizabeth–"

"Don't," she warned. She looked tired and weary, and for a second, it looked like she might cry again. She exhaled forcefully instead. "Just don't."

He paused, unsure of what to do. It felt like he was intruding on something that he had no right to. Maybe he was more unwelcome than he thought? The notion twisted a knife in his stomach, but he wasn't about to force anything on Elizabeth, least of all his presence when he wasn't wanted.

He cleared his throat. "Do you want me to leave?"

She hesitated for a second – John would be lying if he said that didn't hurt – but then she shook her head no. Even the barest amount of relief was short lived when her eyes prickled with unshed tears. He really didn't know how to handle crying women, this one in particular. She'd always seemed to square her shoulders and deal with whatever came, and because of that, he was slow to play catch-up with the abrupt change in her demeanor.

Silence settled into the room, thick and heavy.

Her soft voice broke it. "John?"

He shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to another, still bracing himself for rejection. "Yeah?"

Her greens eyes locked onto his with a desperate plea hidden in them. "Make me forget. Just help me forget about all the death, just for a little while?"

He stared at her. The implication of her words struck him hard in the chest, and he knew what she was asking. John saw the pain, the horror in her eyes and knew… this was it. This was going to break her. If he rejected her, it'd break both of them.

She closed her eyes, and shook her head embarrassed. "Never mind. I'm just--"

Something snapped inside him.

In two strides, he crossed the expanse between them and crushed his lips to hers. The kiss was brutally insistent and aggressive, but Elizabeth didn't protest. Her lips were warm and soft and welcoming. They parted ways to John's demanding lips, and his tongue slipped inside and explored like he'd been deprived of this sensation his entire life. Desire and ecstasy spread through him like wildfire, and his fingers laced through her hair and dragged her closer.

* * *

John woke up in tangled sheets with Elizabeth sprawled half-way across his body. His body was well on its way to feeling the soreness of muscles he had nearly forgotten the use for. He didn't mind one bit. He brushed a hand across her forehead, pushing back her bed-ridden hair and soaked up the feel of her.

He didn't want to move, but morning rituals were hard for him to break, especially those of the call of nature. He gently eased her weight off of him, shifting her naked body over towards the side as he slipped out. The maneuver nearly ended up with him falling off the edge of the bed, but finally, he was able to get out from under without waking Elizabeth up. The embarrassing lack of coordination thankfully went unnoticed.

He stepped onto loose leafs of papers that had cascaded across the floor in a chaotic mess from the night before. He glanced around the mess, slightly smug at the evidence of their activities, and quickly grabbed his pair of boxers from the corner chair all the way across the room. He slipped them on, casting one last look at Elizabeth sleeping oblivious in their bed.

Her body was positioned at an awkward angel, with her legs sticking out towards the sides of the bed instead of at the foot. The white sheet was twisted around her body, but a tantalizing view of one of her limber legs peeked out from one of the corners. He grinned, enjoying the sight, and entertained a perverse thought for a second or two.

He shook his head, dispelling the mental image, and went to the bathroom instead. He used the facilities, scrubbed his face clean, and then glanced at the mirror. His five O'clock shadow was early – or late – he wasn't really sure what the time was with no clear view of the sun through billions of gallons of water outside all windows. It felt like morning, but without any Atlantian clocks to confirm his suspicions, he had no way of knowing for sure. He rummaged through the different accessories near the sink, looking for something he could shave with, and stumbled across a pack of what had to be Altantian condoms.

His face burned bright red with the realization that they had unprotected sex last night. For all his previous promiscuous dealings, that was usually one thing he never forgot. John cleared his throat, and then belatedly realized the implications of these supplies in Elizabeth's things.

He peeked out the side door to the bathroom, spotting Elizabeth still sleeping, and tried to hold in another grin. There was the woman he'd fallen for – always prepared. Still, he put aside a couple condoms for easy access for later occasions. No need to continue being careless in the future.

He found another pack of bathroom essentials hidden behind a box of tissues and opened it. He brushed his teeth, shaved, and cleaned up after himself in time to emerge and find Elizabeth stirring in bed.

Unsurprisingly, his first thought was that she looked dead-sexy in the morning, all groggy and bed-tousled. She smiled up at him, sleepily, and tugged the corners of the white sheet around her to secure a makeshift covering. "What time is it?"

John shrugged. "No clue."

Elizabeth glanced out the window, starring at the ocean water for once with annoyance. "We should probably get dressed. I want to know what happened last night after we left."

"Somehow," John said, idly, "I don't think they threw a party."

She reached over and stretched across the bed to grab at the nearest article of clothing available to her. She came up with John's white Atlantian shirt. She traded looks with him, and John held in an appreciative smirk.

"Well," she said, letting the sheets drop as she slipped on the shirt. John got a brief glimpse of pale flesh before she was covered up again. She climbed off the bed, and the shirt dwarfed her down to her knees. John felt his arousal spiking, but Elizabeth walked right past him. She glanced back, smirking, as if she could read his mind, and he could have sworn her hips swayed a little more than usual on her way toward the bathroom. "I'm gonna take a quick shower."

He licked his lips. "Mind if I join?"

Elizabeth stopped, looking tempted, but then she sighed. "No, you'll make us late. I wanna get out of here within fifteen minutes."

John rocked on his heels. "I can do fifteen minutes."

Elizabeth glared, half amused. "No, you really can't."

The door shut behind her, and John took a deep breath. He glanced around the mess, and decided to do something productive while he waited. He gathered up the strewn papers on the floor and set them aside neatly on the bedside table. When he started making the bed, a knock at the front door pulled his attention. He was still in his boxers, so he made a quick grab for his pants – left shirtless, thanks to Elizabeth – and answered the knock.

The two guards were still stationed on either side of the door, and just as John wondered what those two had heard last night through the thin Atlantis walls, he noticed they weren't the ones that had knocked on the door. Alana, the seventeen-year-old girl previously designated their guide, stood in the corridor with her hands clasped tightly in front. Remembering her extreme shyness, John immediately bit back a groan as her eyes instantly connected with his bare chest and redness spread across her cheeks and neck. He really needed to stop greeting her at the door like this.

She quickly averted her eyes by looking down at the floor and her voice turned incredibly high-pitched. Like, only-dogs-can-hear-you high pitched. "Good Morning, Major Sheppard. Did you rest well last night?"

One of the guards quickly turned and coughed into his hand, although John suspected it was more to cover up a laugh. John threw a dark look towards him, but thankfully, the man remained quiet. His partner, though, looked like the effort to contain laughter was slowly cutting off his oxygen supply. That answered that question, then. You'd think the Ancient could have invented sound proof walls.

He turned back to Alana, keeping his face straight – mostly. Though there may have been the beginnings of a satisfied grin. "Yeah, good night's rest."

She nodded, eyes intent on the floor. "Melia wishes to meet with you early this morning. She wanted to inquire of an appropriate time."

John cleared his throat. "Anytime, really."

"Very well. She will be expecting you shortly."

"Okay."

Alana quickly turned and scurried along the hallway until she was out of sight. He spared a moment to send a threatening glare towards his two guards, and then quickly closed the door before either one could open their mouths to comment.

* * *

A while later, Elizabeth and John arrived at the Gateroom with their guards in tow. They passed by several technicians before finally finding Melia sitting inside an office that connected to the Control Room upstairs. She looked up at them when they approached her, and predictably, it looked like her night hadn't gone as well as theirs. Wrinkles of worry and grief marred her porcelain face.

"Major Sheppard, Dr. Weir," she greeted, forcing a tight smile. "Come in. Please sit down."

They entered, and although Melia stood up to close the door behind them, the clear glass walls that encased the office on three sides did little to provide them with any real privacy. John glanced towards the activity in the Control Room and down below in the Gateroom before his attention came back to Melia. She made her way back behind the desk. Janus' metal briefcase sat on top of her desk. John eyed it with curiosity, and Melia noticed.

She sighed. "It's no use, Major. None of us can open the briefcase, yet. It's locked with vocal recognition software. It'll take us some time to create a synthetic representation of Janus' voice that's accurate enough to fool the program. What's worse is that he programmed it with an additional password. He was paranoid – appropriately, considering his demise – about his work."

Elizabeth's eyes were glued to the metallic briefcase. "He always said his time-traveling device was his life's greatest achievement."

Melia nodded. "And to think, after all that, the High Council still might decide to destroy it anyway. They're thankfully holding off on the decision for now." She paused, eyes suddenly prickling with unshed tears, and quickly refocused on something else. "Is there anything you would like to drink or eat? I'm afraid I don't have much of anything here, but I could arrange–"

"Melia," Elizabeth interrupted softly.

No other words were necessary for the other woman to immediately stop the pointless small talk. She turned to face them, and especially under Elizabeth's sympathetic gaze, Melia's demeanor slowly changed. She seemed to crumple inwards slightly, but there was still a spark of that defiant need in her to maintain some composure. John recognized it easily; Elizabeth did the same thing.

Melia cleared her throat. "Forgive me. It was a long night."

Elizabeth's warm gaze followed Melia as she finally sat down behind her desk. John shifted uncomfortably from his own seat, unsure of how to handle the situation. Elizabeth seemed to know better than him. She discreetly nodded her head to the side, a quiet indication that she wanted to talk with Melia in private. John paused, glanced back and forth between Elizabeth and the other woman, and then popped up like a Jack-in-the-Box.

"I'll just, um…" he began, ever so eloquently. He gestured vaguely towards the door, trying not to make it look like he was fleeing the scene of a crime. "…get some food for you two," he finished, lamely. He tried a casual smile, nodding. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know."

Elizabeth smiled at him, although John suspected that internally she was rolling her eyes. "That's a good idea, Major."

He traded a brief look with Elizabeth and then retreated out the doors. As he quickly made his way down the grand staircase, he glanced back up through the clear glass walls to see Elizabeth leaning on the desk near Melia, a comforting hand placed on Melia's shoulder as she leaned in and offered support. John drew a deep breath, and turned back around. He made it to the bottom of the staircase before a commanding voice called to him from behind.

John turned around to find Moros making his way towards him. John held in the first scathing remark that popped into his brain, and settled for a wry smile instead. "Moros, you big lug! How you doin' today?"

Moros' expression turned sour, but he ignored John's comment. "Come. I wish to speak with you." He turned towards the guards. "You're relieved of your duties. There will not be any need for protection anymore."

Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heels and started heading away without even so much as a glance in John's direction. The two guards looked blankly at each other, and then nodded their quick farewell towards John before making their leave. John was left standing by himself at the foot of the staircase. Moros turned around with an air of annoyance, beckoning him with a wave. John sighed, annoyed, and reluctantly followed the older man until they came to a secluded room away from the bustling energy of the Gateroom.

Moros closed the door behind them, and unlike Melia's office, these walls weren't made of glass. Alone in a room with an unpleasant Ancient – one that John trusted about as far as he could throw – paranoia quickly grabbed hold. He turned to Moros with thinly disguised disgust.

Moros looked – shock of all shockers – angry. John briefly wondered if the man knew any other emotion. "I came here to inform you that what happened last night was an aberration. It will not happen again, and if you persist to push your agenda on Melia, and for reasons passing comprehension, she's continues to support you, then you are going to create a volatile situation. One, I assure you, that will not end favorably."

John's eyes narrowed. "Is that a threat, Councilor?"

Moros sighed. "As I had suspected. You take everything to the most primitive implications. I am not talking of threats, you imbecile! I am talking of cold hard facts. Atlantis is simmering to a boil with tension. Surely even you can sense that. We cannot have anyone or anything disrupt that fragile balance, and certainly not from a pedestrian like yourself hiding amongst us."

John adopted a lazy drawl. "You're gonna have to dumb that down for me, Moros. Me and my primitive mind can't understand so many fancy words."

The sharpness in Moros' voice was expected. "Think for a moment, Major. If we allow you to use the time-traveling device for your own purposes, what is to prevent any others from electing a similar option? Imagine, there are thousands of desperate people still left in this city. Most have recently lost family and friends."

John shifted in his stance, and despite himself, he pictured a thousand people all demanding to use the time-traveling machine. He had to admit, it didn't paint a rosy picture.

Moros continued, "You and Dr. Weir talk of time-travel in an age when we are being slaughtered by the millions." His eyes hardened, words spitting out with fury. "What makes your people so damn special? Why should we let you use the time-traveling device when we condemn our own to suffer whatever fate hands us?"

John raised an eyebrow, words turning sharp. "Then use the damn machine yourself. Dig your way out of this mess by–"

"Changing the very fabric of time?" Moros demanded, incredulous. "Not even we should be as selfish and arrogant as that. It is folly to think we are capable of controlling the repercussions of time! We could change the fate of the entire universe with one false move."

John crossed his arms over his chest. "You know what? I don't care. All I want is to save the lives of my people. That's all I want."

"As do I," Moros responded. "You think for a second I have not envisioned my own uses for the time machine?" He looked away, pacing down the length of the room in agitation. "The potential it has _haunts_ me, day and night. Sometimes, it is all I can think about. I could change so many things with…"

Moros visibly swallowed his next words, and while John wasn't sure if the entire thing was an act or not, Moros did look like a man stalked by possibilities in that moment. There was a silent desperation in his eyes that John was slightly surprised to see. Every other time he'd seen Moros, the Ancient had been the epitome of controlled arrogance. Now, though, he just looked as frustrated and unnerved by everything as John felt.

Moros cleared his throat, though, quickly regaining a bit of his composure. "But things are not that simple. It would be so very easy to fall into that way of thinking that I – or you – could change things for the better–"

"Maybe we could," John argued, stepping forward to intercede. "Repercussions don't have to be bad. We could make things better."

Moros turned to face John directly. "Has your presence made things better for us?"

John paused. "What?"

"Has your presence made things better for us?" Moros repeated, voice hardening again. "Tell me, Major, how many things have you changed in our timeline? What distortions have you caused in our reality?"

This time, the pause was longer. "I can't answer that."

Moros raised an eyebrow. "Exactly, Major. That's precisely my point. We don't know the repercussions of time-travel. Who knows? Perhaps without your presence here, Janus would have lived to the ripe old age of one hundred, carrying out his reckless experimentations until the end of his days."

Anger instantly bubbled up inside John. "Don't you blame that on me! I am not responsible for his death!"

"Maybe you didn't kill him," Moros conceded, then proceeded to twist a knife in John's gut. "But you and I both know that Janus was most likely targeted because of his aide to you and Dr. Weir. Melia informed me of what you told her last night. She said that Janus had been preparing to help you save your expedition somehow."

"Before you ask," John said, bitingly. "No, I don't know how."

Moros nodded, looking unconvinced. John didn't particularly care if the man believed him or not. Not that John would tell Moros much, even if he did know, but this time his words of ignorance had the added weight of actually being true.

"In any case, your mere presence in our time-line led to the circumstances of his death. You did not kill Janus, but you _are_ responsible, Major." He shifted in his stance, boring cold eyes into John. "Tell me, how many more lives are you willing to risk? Because one wrong move in the affairs of time, and literally millions and billions of people could die."

For a moment, words failed John. Then anger built up and goaded him into stepping up to bring the confrontation face to face. "Listen to me, you sanctimonious ass. Just because you're too much of a coward to try anything even remotely risky, don't try and shift the attention off yourself. I'm just trying to save my people. I'm the only one in this room that can make that claim."

"It's so easy for you to throw blame around," Moros countered, disgusted. "The arrogance you and Dr. Weir possess continually astounds me."

John's anger suddenly took control entirely. "Look who's talking," he spat. "You're doing a bang up job there, yourself."

"You do not know the hardships of command. Not truly. From what I understand, your only experience with it was your expedition. What a lofty thing that is to boast about!"

That was the final straw. Straining against the impulse to deck him, John fingers clenched tightly and the two stubborn men stared off. For a moment, John honestly considered throwing a punch, but a voice in the back of his head that oddly sounded like Elizabeth urged him to pull back in the last second.

John smiled, tightly. "Lucky for you, I don't hit Senior Citizens."

He turned on his heels and marched out of the room without a backwards glance. He was liable to punch the man in the head if he stayed in that room any longer, but the distance did little to reduce the urge or the blinding anger that had quickly built with it. A dark cloud hung over him, and by the time he made it back to the Gateroom, John's fingers were clenched in such a tight fist that he was surprised blood wasn't drawn from his fingernails.

He spotted Elizabeth in the same second that she spotted him. She came down the spiral staircase to greet him. "John, where have you been? I've been looking for–" She stopped, catching onto his mood. "Is everything alright?"

No, John thought, but settled for something else. "Let's get out of here."

Elizabeth paused, then slowly nodded and stepped into line with John as he quickly made his way out. He heard Moros call out his name from behind, but determined to ignore the man, John stalked forward and headed strait for the nearest transporter. Elizabeth glanced back curiously, but she didn't break her matching pace beside John. As they entered the transporter, John tapped his destination on the map and turned around just in time to see Moros quickly approaching them. The doors closed in his face.

Elizabeth cast him an inquisitive look, eyebrows raised. "Do I want to know what that was about?"

Lingering echoes of Moros' words played inside John's mind. _You did not kill Janus, but you are responsible, Major. Tell me, how many more lives are you willing to risk? Because one wrong move in the affairs of time, and literally millions and billions of people could die._ He swallowed hard, pushing away the memory with forceful annoyance.

"John," Elizabeth's voice cut into his thoughts. "What happened with Moros?"

The transporter doors opened, and having arrived at their destination, John quickly exited the enclosure and walked away. Elizabeth trailed behind him, trying to get a word in edge-wise, but John was determined to block out her voice just like Moros'. He saw their room within sight and quickened his pace. A quick swipe of his hand later and the doors opened to the darkened room. Elizabeth followed in; the door slid closed behind her.

"John, talk to me! What–"

Her words were cut off mid-sentence when John turned on her and crushed his mouth to hers. It was a violent kiss, and unlike last night, there was very little about this that was tinged with any emotion but aggression. Her muffled voice uttered a surprised protest immediately, and she pushed away from the brutal kiss with both hands against his chest. "John!"

He cocked his head to the side, eyes intent on her bruised lips. "What? I thought you liked it rough?"

Her face colored, but she quickly recovered. "What's wrong, John?"

John laughed. Actually laughed. "What's wrong? _What's wrong?_ We're standing here, ten thousand years into the past, forty-two of our people dead, and in the middle of a war with life-sucking vampires! And you ask me what's wrong? God!" He said, venom thick and unable to contain it. "What the fuck kind of dumb question is that?"

Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth, unable to respond. She looked stricken enough that John felt a morsel of regret trickle in to contaminate his anger.

Still, he fought for control, and still, he felt it slipping. He took one more glance at Elizabeth, and while the urge to throw her against the wall and take her like he'd been tempted to do last night was overwhelming, he clenched his fists and drove off the thought. He took a deep breath, and then walked back to the door. Elizabeth regained her voice in that moment, calling for him, but John fended off anything she had to say by holding up a warning hand. He couldn't be trusted, not now. He'd say or do something more that he'd regret later on, and the last thing he needed at this point was even _more_ guilt.

He left the room, and stalked away.


	8. Chapter8

Hours later, his feet pounded away on the metallic catwalk that ran the perimeter of Atlantis in a relentless run. Having circled a small section of the area more than a half a dozen times already, his clothes were soaked in hard-earned sweat and his muscles screamed in protest, but he still ran. Despite the fact that his anger had been given enough time to cool off, John continued further with the grueling pace he had set for himself as some twisted form of punishment.

His anger may have subsided, but his thoughts ran a mile a minute. Moros' words had opened the floodgates to all the pent-up guilt John had been battling against. In its wake, he found himself playing over the images of every single death he had been witness to. There were far too many to count, even for one as gifted with numbers as him, and John felt tight coils of revulsion as he remembered each and every face. From Atlantis, to Olesia, to even Afghanistan, death had trailed a bloody pathway everywhere John had gone.

He hated to admit it, but Moros had been right. His presence in this time-line had led to Janus' death, inadvertent as it was. The guilt of that was bad enough, but once John had conceded that point, his mind supplied a dozen other possibilities. What else was he responsible for? What other deaths did his presence bring about? He couldn't say for sure, but the weight of his mere presence in this time-line could have had a domino effect. He wasn't even talking about the crazy abstract stuff, like a species ten thousand years from now going extinct because he sneezed at the wrong moment. No, he was talking about tangible things. The practical things.

If Elizabeth and him hadn't traveled to the past, how would things have turned out? Janus would have lived, right? What about Amish and Trebal? What would have happened on the delegation? Would the treaty have passed? Would the Aurora have been destroyed somehow? What about Atlantis? Would somebody else have lived? Would somebody else have died?

The possibilities were endless, and he wasn't in any position to rule out anything. Moros should be proud, John thought darkly, because his words had thoroughly mind-fucked him into a place where he was questioning everything. He knew the only thing that kept him from going insane was the slim – and ever slimmer – possibility that he could save lives. It was that damn hero complex that was gonna put him in his grave one day, but right then, John didn't particularly care about what happened to him. He just wanted to make a difference – a better difference.

His foot snagged on a piece of the metal meshwork of the floor, and John slammed into the ground before he even realized he'd tripped. A sharp pain spiked up his leg, and his hands and arms scraped raw against the metal as he went down. He ended up a pathetic pile on the floor.

He let out a frustrated groan and tried to catch his breath on all fours as battery acid pumped through his veins. Guilt and anger and pain had driven him beyond his regular endurance, but his body was quickly revolting. He felt dizzy and lightheaded, and spots of colors played before his vision as the sting of the abrasions reflexively caused his eyes to water. For a moment, it somehow threatened to open up the flood gates and let loose with genuine emotion.

He forcefully blinked away his glossy vision and willed himself to take control with a deep, shuddering breath. He couldn't breakdown. Not now. That would just make his failures utterly complete and flawless. He grabbed the railings for support, and told himself _to be a man._

It took a moment before the mantra worked. Vision clearing, John viciously pushed all emotions away until his head cleared of everything. He looked quickly for a distraction, and found physical pain to be preferable to the other kind. His skin had been scraped raw along the palm of his hands, and there was a shallow cut that tore into his left calf, but other than that, he seemed fine. He glanced around at his surroundings for the nearest exit. He didn't even know where he was in Atlantis. Everything in the catwalk looked like everything else.

"That's what happens when you run for nearly three hours straight."

His head whipped around and found Elizabeth emerging from the long hallway that stretched onwards for miles. She quickly approached him, bending down to get a better look at his injuries. John pulled away from her, surprised and a little annoyed.

"Been working on your stalker skills? How long have you been watching me?"

She didn't react to the sting in his words. Instead, she looked at him with entirely too much sympathy in her eyes. "Long enough," she answered softly then quickly looked down. "Let me see your hands."

"It's not that bad."

"John–"

"It's really nothing."

Her shoulders tensed. "Then quit being a baby about it, and let me see."

He sighed, but reluctantly held them up for inspection. "See? Just a couple of scratches. Nothing bad."

"What about your leg?"

"It's fine," John snapped, annoyance rising. He decided to push off the ground in demonstration, and bit back a sharp outcry at the pain that lanced up his left leg immediately. He quickly settled back down onto the ground, and didn't need to look at Elizabeth's face to _feel_ the raised eyebrow. "I just need to rest for one second," he insisted. "I'm tired."

Elizabeth sighed, glancing around. "All right. We'll rest here for a second, and then we can go to the infirm–"

"No," John warned. "I am not going back to the infirmary. I've already spent way too much time there as it is. I'm not going back for anything short of life-threatening."

Elizabeth sucked in a harsh breath. "Don't even joke about that!"

He glanced at her, taking in the pinched expression of worry on her face that was all too familiar. The anger in him faded a bit but, still frustrated and sporting a bruised ego on top of his bruised leg, he took a deep breath and settled back against the railings.

"Just give me a second," he said, but it came out entirely too much like asking for permission than anything else. "We don't need to go to the infirmary for this."

Elizabeth paused, looking intently at him and then nodded. "Okay. I suppose so." She moved to settle next to him against the railings, glancing at him with an aura of resignation. "I thought I saw a first aide kit in our bathroom, anyway."

He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment to help collect himself. He leveled off his breathing, trying to ignore the pain in his legs and the sting of his palms. Silence descended and even with his eyes closed he was acutely aware of Elizabeth sitting next to him. Even though he must have reeked of sweat, he was glad she didn't sit a distance away. Lately, they'd been attached at the hip – _and no, that wasn't a euphemism for sex_ – but he didn't realize until just then how much he was coming to rely on her. Without even doing anything, she was a soothing presence.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

John took another deep breath, eyes glued shut. "No. Not really."

Silence resettled and he assumed that was Elizabeth's way of acceding to his words. His heart rate finally returned to normal and, even as fatigue nipped at its heels, John started to feel better. He peeked open his eyes, and found Elizabeth staring at him. He'd never admit it out loud but having Elizabeth show concern for him in such an obvious way actually did make him feel marginally better. Still, she didn't deserve the anxiety it caused. Especially after his performance earlier today.

John inwardly groaned, remembering the last words he had spit at her. She should have been pissed at him, not worried about him. John felt like kicking himself for being the dumbest man alive, and he had no idea how he was going to explain his behavior.

He settled for something mindless. "All right, I'm ready to move."

She nodded faintly, standing up first and offering a helping hand. John grabbed it and pulled himself up. Pain spiked up his leg but this time expecting it, he merely winced against it. He hobbled at first, walking beside Elizabeth, but the pain slowly lessened and John made the added effort to make it not look quite so obvious. They made it back to the main populated sections of the city and then headed strait for their quarters. The entire time they walked in silence. Not particularly awkward silence. Just silence.

He was glad she wasn't pushing. He wasn't sure if he could have handled it if she did. Talking had never been one of his strong suits, and talking about his _feelings_ even less so. Still, half of him was expecting Elizabeth to bombard him with a barrage of questions the moment they were alone in their room. He owed her that, he supposed. The other more hopeful half of him just prayed she wouldn't feel the need to verbally dissect this. Not everything could be handled through words. In John's experience, few things ever were.

When they finally made it inside their room, John immediately crashed on the nearest chair. He tensed, though, waiting for the questions to begin. To his surprise, they didn't. Elizabeth walked past him and entered the bathroom to retrieve the first aide kit, and a moment latter, she returned with the supplies in hand. "Take off your pants."

John raised an eyebrow. "Can you give me a moment before we get to the foreplay?"

She looked amused, and held up stinging antiseptic. "Pants. Off. Now."

Even as he unbuckled his belt, he cast a weak grin. "Oh, come on. Now you're just trying to turn me on." He stood up to remove his pants, wincing when the cloth rubbed against his wound. Elizabeth cocked an amused eyebrow, as if to say: _see? That's what you get._ John threw her a half-hearted glare before collapsing back on to the chair.

She looked down at the wound and sighed. "Must everything turn physical with you?"

John leaned back. "Pretty much, yeah."

She cleaned his cut. At first, it was all rather mundane and annoying, dealing with the stinging alcohol and the strips of bloodied cloth that came away. The wound on his calf managed to irritate him enough that he didn't even appreciate the fact that Elizabeth was crouched in an interesting position between his legs. She wiped away the blood that seeped out and applied pressure until the small but annoying wound seemed to stop bleeding. Before she could grab the gauze to wrap around his calf, John stopped her.

"I'm gonna take a shower in a second anyway. There's no point to it."

She nodded, and then settled into a position beside him. "Let me take care of your hands then."

He reluctantly nodded and watched as she applied the alcohol onto the scraped skin on his palms. It stung more than it should have, but when she blew cooling breathes onto the bruised skin, John stared at her, eyes drawn to her pursed lips. Infatuated with the image, he didn't notice that Elizabeth had finished until she pulled away and announced that he was ready.

He paused for a fraction of a second, and then leaned in to kiss her. She didn't resist, but neither did she respond. When he realized this, he awkwardly pulled back. "Thanks," he said, clearing his throat. "Look, about earlier… I'm sorry about what I said. I was just blowing off some steam."

Elizabeth gave him a knowing look. "Hence, the marathon afterwards?"

He shrugged. "I'm serious, though. I really am sorry."

She sighed. "I'm not angry with you, John. It's just… do you want to talk about it?"

John flinched. "Not really, no. Can't we do that whole thing where we just suddenly forget it happened?"

Elizabeth tilted her head. "I'm not so good at that."

He sighed, and then quickly pushed off the chair. "Uh, I should probably take that shower now."

She didn't seem phased by the change in subject. Instead, she smiled at him ruefully and tried to inject some humor into her voice. "Please do. The smell alone is killing me."

He flashed another weak grin and hobbled into the bathroom. The moment the door closed behind him, he let his head rest against the cool feeling of the solid metal door. Groaning, he didn't think a revisit of last night was in the books. While Elizabeth hadn't been distant with him, she hadn't exactly been receptive to his kiss either. Feeling like he should have done more than just a lame apology, John stripped off his clothes and tossed them aside, furiously thinking of a way to make it up to her.

Nothing came to mind, though – at least nothing that wasn't slightly perverted. He turned on the shower, and still feeling the pressures of the day bearing down on him, enjoed the feeling of the hot stream of water. But even as it soothed his muscles, John still felt tense. His body and mind both were wound tighter than a coiled spring, and the frustration to feel release in some way was tempting. Too tempting.

Without even trying, he conjured up the image of Elizabeth in the shower with him. The taste of water mixed in with the memory of her body and desire sizzled through him like lightning. His body responded, hardening, but he resisted the urge to let his calloused and bruised hands alleviate the pressure of his growing hard-on. He wanted the imagery and the experience to linger, and remembering the sound of her gasps and fantasizing about new ways to bring them about, he didn't even realize the bathroom door had opened.

When he finally noticed her, she had him pinned with a knowing gaze. He froze, caught between embarrassment and intense arousal, when she closed the bathroom door behind her in a decisive move. She dragged her dress up her body and over her head, making surprisingly quick work of disposing of her underwear and bra. John stared at her, feeling almost drugged with anticipation until she stepped into the shower. He immediately pulled her into a greedy kiss, tasting water sliding down his throat as the shower drenched her.

She abruptly pulled back. "I just want you to let me in, John," she said, eyes clouded with a serious look. "You don't have to share everything with me, but don't close me off either. You're all I've got."

So _that_ was what was bothering her? He nearly laughed at the realization, but the serious expression on her face made him pause. Instead, he settled for resting his forehead against hers, his voice as serious as hers. "Elizabeth, trust me when I say you've gotten more 'in' to me than any other person in my entire life. No lie."

She sighed. "Because of what we've been through?"

He paused then smirked. "I'm fairly certain that if Colonel Sumner had survived instead of you, we wouldn't have been in this position."

She barked a sharp, short laugh. "That's good to know, I suppose."

He kissed her, long and hard. "But it's you I'm falling for. Not because of what we've been through, but because of who you are." She looked incredibly vulnerable in that moment, so John continued, catching her chin with his hand. "I think no matter what, as long as I got the chance to know you, I would have felt this way. It's not the circumstances, Elizabeth. There's probably a reality out there, right now, where the expedition survived and we explored Atlantis together. It'd have to be a particularly thick-skulled version of me not to fall for you there too."

She smiled. "You really think there's a reality like that out there?"

"What? Where everybody lived like one big happy family on Atlantis and got to do the whole 'go where no man has gone before' thing?" He grinned, pressing her against the shower wall and trailing light kisses across her collarbone. "I thought that's what we were fighting for, Lizzie," he said, huskily.

Her finger drew light illusive patterns on his skin, lighting fire everywhere it went. Despite his efforts to distract her, though, she still looked deep in thought. Lost in it, in fact. "It's looking more and more likely that we'll fail, though."

"Hey," he said, hating the dejection in her voice. Never mind that he'd spent the last few hours caving under the pressure of the same thought. That was him. Elizabeth was different. She was the optimist in this thing. If that flipped around, he wouldn't be sure about anything. "Do you trust me?"

Her eyes locked with his and her answer took him by surprise with its sheer confidence. "With everything."

No one had ever believed in him as much as she did.

He actually needed a moment to recover from that, nodding. "Good. Then I need you to do two things." His voice turned deadly serious. "First, I need you to believe me when I say we'll fix this. We'll figure out a way."

She closed her eyes and rested her head against the cool tiles behind her. "Yeah, and what's the other thing?"

He grinned as his hands slid over her slick belly, turning teasing. "Well, that's really best left demonstrated."

* * *

The Gateroom was quiet for once.

The night shift was half-way through their rotation before John and Elizabeth finally emerged from their rooms in search of Melia. Elizabeth had informed him that earlier in the morning, Melia had been too distraught with grief to offer her much of any information in regards to Janus' murder investigation. John could understand that, but while he didn't want to push the only Ancient around here that he actually liked, some things couldn't wait. Every minute that Janus' killer was free was a minute that John was failing to do his job. He was tired of being beyond useless.

Passing by the Control Room, he stopped and took note of the one technician now manning a console solely set up to wait for any communications with the Aurora. Nothing had been heard from the vessel since its departure though, and while people still kept desperate hope alive that whatever illusive mission it had set out to accomplish would succeed, each passing day that hope dimmed. The man sitting alone at the console was a bleak reminder of that.

Elizabeth tugged at John's arm to get him moving, though she stared at the man with equal scrutiny.

When they finally made it to their destination, John found that Melia had given the reins of control over to another Ancient for the night. Up in the clear glass office, a young man with sharp blue eyes and blond hair sat in Melia's chair. He introduced himself as Advisor Sorenson. John had come to know enough about the Alterian High Council to recognize the honorary title. Sorenson was a member, and although not as high up as Melia or Moros, John was getting to finally recognize more than just a handful of faces around here.

Sorenson acted pleasant enough, but his curt tone grated on John's nerves almost from the get-go. "What can I do for you, Dr. Weir, Major Sheppard?"

Elizabeth traded a look with John, before addressing him for the both of them. "We were hoping to be brought up to speed on Janus' murder investigation."

Sorenson paused, leaning back in his chair. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you the details of any information that is not public knowledge. You understand?"

Elizabeth nodded, faintly. "Of course, but if you could just tell us what you can."

Sorenson tilted his head to the side, surprised. "I'm sure you've heard the public information by now. Those details have spread through the City like wildfire."

John shrugged, holding back a winch. "We've been a little preoccupied today. Why don't you fill us in?"

He clasped his hands together, and nodded. "Alright, the official cause of death was induced through an injection at the base of Janus' neck with a lethal dose of a synthetic toxin. He hemorrhaged and bled to death within a minute."

A minute, John thought. That was a minute too long to feel death.

"There seems to be no signs of struggle at the scene of the murder," Sorenson continued, clinically emotionless. "Which suggests that Janus may have known the culprit, or simply had not seen them coming. The public is also aware of the fact that there are no workable samples of tissue or fiber to seize upon. Our list of suspects, however, remains confidential. Within the purview of the investigation, all other information has been labeled classified." He glanced between them. "Is that all?"

Elizabeth cleared her throat but only John would notice the tightness in her expression. "Does it look like they'll catch the person that did this?"

Sorenson's expression bordered on smugness. "I assure you, Dr. Weir, we have our best people on this. The culprit will be found and brought to justice swiftly."

* * *

Two days later, a short portly fellow was arrested in the Mess Hall by a group of Alterian guards. John wasn't there to witness it, but he heard the news secondhand from Alana, who did. She had finally come to the point where she could glance up and met his eyes when they spoke, but the blushing still continued. John pretended not to notice.

"His name is Alahof," she said, sitting opposite of Elizabeth while John stood off to the side. "He worked in the same laboratory that Janus did. Supposedly, he claims the time-traveling device was originally his design and Janus stole it."

Elizabeth stared, incredulous. "Janus stole the designs? I don't believe that!"

Despite the fact that it provided John the reprieve of any guilt over Janus' death, he had to agree with Elizabeth. The notion that Janus had stolen the device to the time-traveling Gateship seemed… _wrong._ He had no proof to back it up. All he had were gut instincts. Janus just wasn't the type.

Alana met Elizabeth's eyes. "The murder is thought to be committed as an act of vengeance."

John glanced at Elizabeth, but she seemed lost in her own thoughts. When she finally connected with his gaze, he saw denial there – hers more emotional than his. "It doesn't make any sense."

John just nodded. He turned back to Alana. "Any idea what's gonna happen to him?"

Alana shrugged awkwardly. "They are not going to have a trial. Atlantis has too much to worry about at the present moment to concern itself with this. The High Council is making an announcement in the morning of what is to be done of Alahof and his time-traveling designs."

"Janus' time-traveling designs," Elizabeth corrected, sharply. "Those were Janus' designs. I don't care what the man claimed." Alana looked abashed, and Elizabeth immediately looked regretful at the harsh tone. "I'm sorry, Alana. It's just…"

John stood with his arms crossed over his chest, raising an eyebrow as he shrewdly commented. "Something is rotten in the state of Denmark?"

Elizabeth looked at him, and nodded. "Exactly." She sighed, lines of worry marring her face. "What about the time-traveling designs?"

Alana pushed back a strand of her hair, shyly responding, "The High Council is meeting tonight to decide the fate."

"What?" Elizabeth exclaimed sharply. "Why weren't we informed of this? We should be there at the meeting!"

John cut in before Alana was forced to answer. "Isn't it obvious? They don't want us there. They're perfectly content to sweep the whole thing under the rug. _Damn it,_" John cursed, pacing back and forth in agitation. "I bet Moros put the fear of God into everybody over this. They won't bat an eyelash at destroying the designs now."

"We can't let them do that," Elizabeth said, rising from her chair. "We have to at least get a chance to–"

"We've already had our chance, Elizabeth," John cut in. "I doubt they'll listen to us now. Especially Moros."

"Melia will," Elizabeth countered. "She and I have become close in the last couple of days. She'll listen to us!"

From her perch on the sofa, Alana looked alarmed by all the raised voices. She rose, and muttered faint words that John couldn't understand.

Elizabeth answered, apparently fluent in mumbling as well as six other languages. "Of course, Alana. You can leave anytime. You don't have to ask permission."

She scurried out of the room as quickly as she could, and John stared after her. "She reminds me a lot of a mouse," he commented, bewildered. "You notice how she even sneaks up on you without you noticing? I've had black ops people more noisy than her."

Elizabeth threw a glare in his direction. "That's not very nice, John."

"I'm just saying…" he began, shrugging. "She makes me uncomfortable."

"That's because she has an obvious crush on you," Elizabeth replied, amused. "You don't make things easy on her, either."

"Me? But I haven't done anything!"

Elizabeth shook her head and then turned serious again. "We have to get in on that meeting tonight."

John couldn't keep the cynicism from his voice. "Yes, because I'm sure that'll go in our favor."

She sighed, and then her voice turned to steel with determination. "I'm gonna go talk with Melia. And you," she said, turning to him with what he could only recall as her _'Colonel Sumner, I'm the one in charge, remember?'_ stance. "Find out any information you can on this Alahof guy."

John raised an eyebrow. "How am I supposed to do that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Find a pretty girl who knows stuff, and flirt. Use that Sheppard Charm of yours."

"You think I have charm?" he asked, smugly. Then did a double take. "Wait, you want me to flirt with other women?"

She looked amused again. "I was kind of being sarcastic, but if it works, then go for it, Major. Besides," she said, grabbing her jacket to get ready to leave. "I trust you, remember?"

He nodded, a little uncertain. In his previous life, he would have assumed any girlfriend that said this was setting him up for a trap. With barbed wire and really pissed off cougars inside.

He glanced at her, narrowing his eyes. "You just love me for my body, don't you?"

Elizabeth devilishly smirked, and then made him yelp when she pinched his ass on her way out the door.

* * *

Flirting with a girl was harder than he remembered.

For one, despite Elizabeth's assurances to the contrary, he felt guilty about it. He, John Sheppard, actually felt guilty about flirting. The universe as he knew it was _officially_ topsy-turvy. The other annoying thing was that he was fairly sure women usually responded to his flirtations.

Right now? Not so much.

The only female guard on duty at the brig was entirely focused on her work and didn't seem interested in even a passing conversation with John. He was even denied visitation rights to Alahof, though that didn't surprise him when he thought about it.

Eventually, he flashed her one last smile and took off to figure out another plan that might actually work. On his way out, he glanced at the two security guards stationed in front of the door where Alahof was behind. He briefly considered trying to talk to them, strike up a 'guy's conversation' – although without football as an ice-breaker, he'd have to try something new – when the door opened from the opposite end.

He took a quick survey of the inside. The brig consisted of a rudimentary square cage with horizontal parallel bars. It wasn't much to look at, but then a flicker of blue light hinted at the additional protection of a force field. Inside was the man John presumed was Alahof. He wasn't much to look at either, just some potbellied guy with a bad comb-over job. He had a visitor, though.

At first, John couldn't recognize the other man, but then he turned around and started walking out the door. It was Foril, the former delegate. The one that had made his and Elizabeth's lives difficult (to the point where poison might have been involved) on the Aurora.

"Foril," John greeted, tightly. "What? Hiding under a rock got boring?"

The former delegate glared. "Major Sheppard, I had wondered when I would run into you again. Unfortunately as big as Atlantis is, it is not big enough. Tell me, how is Dr. Weir?"

"Oh, she's doing just fine," John replied in a conversational tone. "The lack of people trying to kill her apparently agrees with her."

Foril's expression tightened. "As I have told the High Council Members already, I had nothing to do with your poisoning. These false accusations are wearing thin."

"I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?"

Foril moved to bypass him, but John cut off his passageway. Never mind that they were surrounded by more guards and guns in this place than at any other point in Atlantis, John wanted a word with Foril. "What exactly were you doing in there?" John asked, nodding his head towards the brig with Alahof in it. "Having your weekly meeting of Cheesy Villains Anonymous?"

Foril crossed his arms over his chest. "That is none of your business, Major Sheppard. You really should learn to keep out of other's affairs."

John glared back. "I'll keep that in mind."

One of the guards interrupted them, handing Foril back his personal possessions. John stared, taking satisfaction in the fact that the scrutiny made Foril squirm. No matter how rude the guy was, John had seen how brave – or lack thereof – the guy was when things got remotely interesting. When Foril was finished with gathering his stuff, he returned John's gaze with disdain.

"If you'll excuse me…"

John sidestepped out of the way, but caught his arm before the guy could leave. He kept his voice light, although his eyes turned cold and his grip tightened vice-like. "Just so you know, if you _were_ the person that poisoned me and Elizabeth, I will find out. I will find out what _really_ happened with Janus, too." He smiled, half predatory, half easygoing. "Just thought I'd fill you in on that."

Foril pulled free, and quickly walked away.

* * *

Elizabeth looked less than pleased when she came back to their quarters, although she did have some good news. "I'm allowed in on the High Council meeting tonight," she announced, and then looked apologetic. "Although, you're not."

John wasn't sure how to feel about that. "Uh, why?"

She took off her jacket and tossed it onto their bed, and then came to crash next to him on the small sofa in the corner. "Moros objected to your mere presence at the meeting," she sighed. "I gotta hand it to you, John, you do know how to piss off people." He flashed back to his recent run in with Foril, and decided not to argue the fact. She continued. "The meeting starts in two hours."

John nodded, pulling her feet into his lap. "I probably would have said something stupid, anyway. You go. Do your whole diplomatic thing."

Elizabeth's toes wiggled a little under his hands, and she laid her head back against the soft material of the sofa with her eyes closed. "What about you? Make any headway with this Alahof guy?"

"He was meeting with Foril."

Elizabeth's head snapped up, eyes wide open. "He was what?"

"You heard me."

Elizabeth's mouth opened and closed. "What does that mean? Are they working together?"

John shrugged. "That thing you smell in the air? It's called fish."

She looked exhausted by the mere possibility of more problems. Resting her head back, she spoke in an exasperated whisper. "I'm getting really tired of this."

"What?" John asked, wryly. "The constant danger? The constant paranoia? What's not to love?"

She groaned. John smirked, and then pushed her feet off his lap. He stood up and offered her a hand. "C'mon, we've got two hours before you need to do your thing. You look like you need a nap."

Elizabeth's eyes blinked open, and then she took his hand gratefully. He guided her to the bed and after she settled in, he crawled in after her. One arm hooked around her waist, and they spooned with her back against his chest.

"John."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

He peeked his eyes open. "For what?"

She didn't respond. Instead, she turned over and resettled face to face, millimeters apart. Her breath was hot and warm against his mouth for a moment, but then her head nestled into the crook of his neck. She sighed, and John's free hand played with her hair as he felt her breathing even out. He tugged her closer, and watched her fall asleep. Shortly afterwards, he followed her into slumber.

The next thing he knew, though, he was being prodded awake by incessant and annoying taps against the temple of his forehead. He blinked groggily, and peeked his eyes open in irritation. The barrel of a gun greeted him, and suddenly, John was completely awake.

What surprised him more than the weapon, though, was the person holding it. Alana peered down at him with a large enough hand-gun to dwarf the size of her petite hands. Despite that, for once she didn't look anything remotely small and fragile. Her head was cocked to the side, and her eyes glistened with amusement that bordered on arrogance.

"Major Sheppard," she replied, in a voice that had no trace of shyness or innocence to it at all. "Your presence is requested before the High Council."

John shifted, but the weight of a still-sleeping Elizabeth sprawled half-way on top of him prevented much movement. He glanced down at her, then back up at Alana. "I don't suppose we could take a rain-check?" Alana shifted the barrel of the gun towards Elizabeth, and John immediately backtracked. "Okay, whoa. Hey, no problems! We're coming." Elizabeth stirred at the sounds, but John's firm grip prevented her from making any bold movements. Even if Alana looked surprising comfortable with the gun, he didn't trust her – now there's an obvious statement if he ever thought one – to hold off on an itchy trigger-finger. He brushed Elizabeth's hair back, and spoke in a deceptively calm voice. "Hey, Elizabeth." He then singsonged, "We've got _company._"

She blinked open her eyes, saw him and smiled groggily, instinctively and without thought. Then she noticed Alana, and stiffened. "Wha–?"

"Dr. Weir." Alana greeted. "This won't hurt. Much."

She pulled the trigger, twice.

* * *

When John woke up, he was tied to a chair in a vacant room in some unfamiliar part of Atlantis. His body tingled with an unfamiliar sensation of pins and needles, and he realized he'd been stunned instead of shot. Thank God for small favors, he thought with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

He twisted his neck to the side and immediately spotted Elizabeth beside him in similar bindings, but still unconscious. His mouth was gagged with a white cloth, but he mumbled something anyway trying to wake her. She didn't respond. He took a harsh breath and futilely struggled against his restraints, but the rough rope did nothing but chafe against his wrist and ankles. He eventually realized it was useless, and settled on looking for another way. There wasn't one. The room provided nothing he could use, and before he had much time to think, the side door opened.

When Moros came walking through, John felt blinding anger instantly spike until it bordered on homicidal. His eyes narrowed in suspicion at the arrogant son of a bitch, but it wasn't until a second later, when Alana followed in with a gun trained towards Moros that John instantly realized the truth. Moros was a prisoner, just like him. She pushed Moros further with the butt of her gun, and Moros stumbled a little before regaining his balance. He glanced at John and Elizabeth, and turned back with his trademark righteous indignation flaming up. For once, John thought it was justified.

"I demand to know what's going on!"

Through his gag, John mumbled his agreement.

Alana roughly pushed Moros into a chair, and tied him down securely. "Shut up, old man. You're not ordering me around today."

After she was done, she walked back out and moments later reentered, this time with Melia in tow. Melia sported a nasty bruise against the temple of her forehead, but Alana wasn't any less gentle with her as she had been with Moros. In fact, she was rougher. She shoved Melia into a chair with exaggerated force, and turned back to eye John with a cold look in her eyes that seemed incredibly foreign.

Alana had always made him feel uncomfortable, but it wasn't until that moment that John realized why. The innocent shy persona had been nothing but an act, and watching her pace the length of the room with a weapon in hand, John felt like he was seeing her for the first time.

He'd been duped. He _really_ hated that.

Elizabeth stirred, drawing John's attention. Bound and gagged, he could do nothing but watch as she returned to consciousness with confusion, and then alarm. Her eyes soaked in the room before settling on him. He tried to convey assurances through his eyes, but he wasn't sure if it was convincing or not. Things were currently well-classified as 'good news, bad news, and _really_ bad news.' Good news was that they were still alive. Bad news was they were captives. The really bad news was that he didn't know why, and wasn't sure if they'd stay alive for much longer to find out.

Melia spoke up with slurred words. "What is going on?"

"Quiet, Melia," Alana threatened. "Everything will be explained in due time."

"Explain now," Moros demanded. "Before Atlantis security comes marching through those doors and puts you down! You think you can get away with this, child?"

Alana backhanded him with a hard blow. A surprised sound escaped through Elizabeth's gag, and Alana turned her attention towards Elizabeth. She peered down at Elizabeth as if inspecting a bug, and walked towards her in at an idle pace. "I do not know what has been more frustrating during these last few weeks. Pretending to have a crush on the half-wit over there," Alana said, glancing in John's direction. Considering the source, John decided not to take offense. She continued in a low drawl. "Or pretending to appreciate your scraps of civility and pity." She glared down at Elizabeth, and then proceeded to roughly pull down the gag from Elizabeth's mouth. "I don't like pity."

Elizabeth licked her dry lips, and glanced up. "Why are you doing this?"

Alana smiled. "Not yet. We have to wait for him."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Who? Foril? Are you working with him?"

Alana laughed. "That idiot? You really don't have the first clue about what's going on, do you? Foril isn't guilty of anything." She turned towards Moros and Melia. "Neither is that man you arrested for Janus' death."

Realization belatedly dawned on John, but Elizabeth still stared up at Alana with surprise. "You?! You killed Janus?"

Alana shook her head in amusement, and confirmed the accusation with a smile. "You have no idea the things I'm capable of. None of you do. People have always underestimated me."

Melia looked devastated. "How have you deceived us for so long?"

"It's easy to deceive fools," Alana replied. "They never look at what's right in front of them."

A masculine voice spoke up from behind John. "That's right, Alana. Truer words have never been spoken."

Elizabeth sucked in a harsh breath, staring wide-eyed at the man John couldn't yet see. The voice was familiar, though. Impossibly familiar. John didn't turn around to confirm his suspicions. He waited until the man walked into his line of sight, and then stared up at him with shock registering in every fiber of his being. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible.

His supposedly _dead_ mechanic friend, Amish, stared down at him and smiled. "Hello, my friend. It's good to see you survived Olesia."


	9. Chapter 9

Elizabeth broke the silence first in a breathless statement. "We saw you die."

"No, Dr. Weir. You saw what I wanted you to see."

"How?" Moros asked, as shocked as the rest of them.

Amish smiled, and pulled out a small rectangular device from his pocket. With a push of a button, the device came to life with a flash of light and an image of a charred body – Amish's charred body – suddenly appeared. It was nothing more than a holographic representation, but the image was incredibly real. It looked just like the image that had seared into John's vision back on Olesia, when they'd been retreating away and John had been fumbling under the pain of his own wounds.

Realization that he'd been made a fool of by more than one person in this room hit him hard, and anger quickly nipped at its heels. Still bound and gagged, he could do nothing but glare up at his former friend with a venom he couldn't adequately put into words.

Elizabeth could still speak, and seemed rational enough to be asking questions that John hadn't even gotten around to thinking of yet. "What about Trebal? We thought she died in the same explosion that you did."

Amish tightly grimaced. "No, I'm afraid her death was real. That was more of an unfortunate accident than anything. I never intended anyone to die. I just needed the ruse of my demise to buy time. I needed it to do my work." He glanced down at John, and as if for the first time noticing the gag, he quickly went to remove it. "Sorry, Sheppard. For what's it's worth, I grew to like you."

The foul residue the cloth left behind was nothing in comparison to the bitter aftertaste of being deceived. "Oh, well," John said, sarcastically. "As long as I'm well liked. Hey, here's a funny question: What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!"

Amish sighed. "What I have to." He turned towards Alana, and nodded. She went outside, and a moment latter, she returned in possession of the familiar metal briefcase that housed Janus' designs in her hands. She set it on the table, and obediently retreated back to the corner of the room. "This," Amish continued. "This is what everything has been for."

For the first time, Melia spoke up. "Janus' time-traveling device? You want to steal his designs?"

"To create my own time-traveling Gateship, yes," Amish replied. "I've spent the last few weeks building what I could so far." He turned back to glare at Melia and Moros on their side of the room. "I couldn't have very well built it here. So I got myself assigned to the delegation, and made sure no body could keep a watchful eye on me."

John raised a skeptical brow. "You planned your death so you could build a Gateship in secrecy?"

"Among other things, yes," he replied. "But I could only build so much off of memory. The last of everything necessary lies in this metal box."

"Off of memory?" Moros repeated, suspiciously. "What do you mean by that?"

"What?" Amish said, circling the room to draw closer to Moros. "You actually thought Janus constructed the Gateship by himself? He may have been smart enough to design a time-traveling device, but his hands weren't made for manual work. He approached me months ago when I first became Chief Mechanic, and requested my expertise and help. Naturally, I was intrigued." He walked back to the metallic briefcase, and moved a hand over the smooth surface as if he were caressing a lover. "I had no idea, then, that what he'd tell would save us all."

John's eyes narrowed. "And by 'us,' I'm presuming you have a more selective group in mind than the people in this room?"

Amish turned back. "I will use this device to save our kind, John. Wipe out the Wraith when they are but a bourgeoning species. I'll end this before it even begins. Don't you see? I'll save everyone."

Repulsed, Elizabeth's voice turned incredulous. "Tell that to Trebal."

Amish quickly glanced at her. "Trebal was a soldier. She would understand the notion of sacrifice."

John gave a sharp laugh. "Are we thinking of the same pissed off Alterian, here? She'd drop-kick your ass across the room if she were here."

Amish sighed, and turned back to the briefcase. "It doesn't matter. To save millions, I'm willing to sacrifice a handful of people." He smiled tightly up at John. "Surely you can understand such a cause, Sheppard. I'm just trying to save my people as you are yours."

"By killing others?" John replied, irritated. "Naw. It lacks style."

Elizabeth spoke up, "What do you want from us, Amish?"

"I need the information in this briefcase. Unfortunately, Janus was a cautionary man. He rigged it with a password and a voice identification marker that responds to a key phrase. I abducted Moros here because he's had this briefcase tied to his possession ever since we framed Alahof for the murder of Janus."

Moros kept his attention riveted on Amish. "You have me then. Why the need for the rest of them?"

Amish smiled. "It's a well known fact that Janus had a weakness for intelligent, beautiful women. In one corner, we have his closest friend, Melia. If anyone can guess his password, it would be her."

Melia glared up, a trickle of blood still trailing down her cheek. "I'll never help you with this, Amish. You'll have to kill me first."

"Actually," Amish replied, lightly. "I'll have to kill Sheppard first. His uses are limited in the current situation, so I figured I'd use his screams to motivate your cooperation."

John released a forceful breath, tightly grimacing. "I always did consider myself a good motivational speaker."

"Don't do this, Amish," Elizabeth spoke up, a hint of fear – for him, John knew – in her voice. "You can turn back. You don't have to–"

"The time for talking is over, Dr. Weir," Amish interrupted. "While I'll let Melia mull over the repercussions of her inactions, I'll need your help."

Elizabeth stiffened. "My help with what? I don't know the password to anything."

Amish shook his head. "As I already said, he had a weakness for intelligent, beautiful women. He was friends with Melia, but he grew to be rather affectionate of you, didn't he? Alana even witnessed him kissing you once."

_That_ was news to John. Wondering how he'd managed to miss that, his head snapped over to look at Elizabeth. He immediately recognized the flustered look on her face and realized that Amish's words were nothing but the truth. From shame or something else, though, she didn't meet John's eyes. Her gaze was reserved solely for Amish, and it slowly hardened. If looks could kill, Amish would have _so_ been sucked dry of life as good as if the Wraith had done it.

"We were just friends," she said in a low voice. "Besides, what the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Amish ignored her, turning to the woman standing in the corner. "Alana, could you please remove Dr. Weir's bindings?"

As if anticipating the order with a relish, Alana quickly drew out a serrated knife that looked too intimidating to be used for just rope. When she walked towards Elizabeth, John immediately stiffened. "What for? What do you plan on doing with her?"

Alana cut the ropes off Elizabeth before John could get an answer. She glanced up at John with humor in her eyes. "Relax, Major. Your precious Dr. Weir has her uses."

"The vocal recognition software," Amish said, as if it explained everything. When John slanted a dubiousness look his way, Amish continued. "If Alana managed to spy half as well as I know she can, her information regarding this will be reliable." He held out his hand. "Dr. Weir, if you would?"

Elizabeth stared, and then apparently realized what he was asking her to do. "I can't open the briefcase."

Alana rolled her eyes. "Of course you can. The man was incessantly infatuated with you. I watched him when he was with you. He would have trusted no one else with these designs." She turned towards Amish. "I'm telling you, the secondary vocal recognition patterns will be configured to her."

Elizabeth glared between the two, defiantly. "If it is, I won't help you open it."

Amish sighed, slightly exasperated. "I had expected you to say that, at first."

He did a one-shoulder shrug, and then gave a curt nod towards Alana. Before John had time to think, a sharp electrifying pain suddenly shot through every fiber of his being and he screamed. It was a mindless pain that blocked out every sensation except horrifying anguish, and when it was over, John keeled over in his chair and sucked in precious oxygen.

He was only vaguely aware that Elizabeth was struggling against Amish's hold, calling to him in horror from across the room, but the residue of pain was entirely too disorienting for John to answer through. He gasped for breath, and looked up to find Alana holding what he could only think of as some type of torture prod.

"I'd keep in mind that your cooperation, Dr. Weir, is what is keeping Sheppard alive."

Elizabeth's wild eyes locked onto John's, and even through the pain, he saw a naked desperation in them. He struggled for words, and finally found one. It was an order: "Don't."

For the next few hours, it was the only word he was coherent enough to keep repeating through the pain.

* * *

Surprisingly, Melia was first to crack.

The password was finally given when Melia apparently had enough of John's screaming. He wasn't lucid enough to actually catch the phrase, but when the correct code had been entered into the data pad on the briefcase, only Elizabeth's cooperation in the uttering a key phrase remained necessary. Melia's compliance had bought John a few moments of respite from the constant bombardment of electricity. His body felt like someone had eaten him alive and then spat him back out in disgust. He slumped in his chair, body limp and struggling to remain conscious.

"Just say it, Dr. Weir," Amish said, endlessly repeating the same thing over and over again. "You can end this now. End his torment. Just say 'My name is Elizabeth Weir. Of my own volition, I desire access to the contents of this case.' Say it, and John's torment will end."

"Then you'll just kill us all," Elizabeth replied knowingly, but the defiant statement was uttered in a half whisper.

John's eyes traveled up to look at her. She stood stock still on the other side of the room with Melia beside her and Alana and Amish flanking behind her, but John's attention remained solely riveted on her. He caught the dark knowledge in her eyes, and how they silently begged forgiveness from him. She couldn't stop this by giving in. They both knew that. The time-traveling machine in the hands of someone as manipulative as Amish could only end in disaster. They couldn't let that happen. No matter the personal cost.

A small amount of pride swelled in him, even as he fought the bleak thought of continued torture. If the situation had been reversed, he wasn't sure if he would have been determined enough to do what she was doing. Elizabeth was strong. He always knew that. Now, though, he realized how strong of a leader she would have been for their expedition had she just been given a chance. Another regret added to the running tally, he supposed.

Amish paced the floor. "Do you think your continued defiance will keep you alive? The more you resist, the more you make me angry."

Elizabeth's voice gained some strength. "What more can you do to us besides torture and death, Amish?"

Amish spun around, his face a rigid mask of frustration. "I have not even begun to torture _you_ yet, Dr. Weir."

Elizabeth stifled a humorless laugh, and John could tell the torture had been working on her just as much as it had been working on him. "Don't play that game, Amish," she warned. "It won't work. I get the feeling that the only reason you haven't tried to physically torture me yet is because it'd add stress to my voice. You need a clean sample, am I right?"

Melia confirmed what Amish wouldn't, speaking in hush tones. "Of course you are. The phrase 'of my own volition' is more than just about words. The inflection, the tone, any strain on the vocal cords are all analyzed by the program."

John gave a bitter laugh. "Give it up, Amish," he said, struggling to get the words out. "You're not going to win this one. Trust me, Elizabeth can be stubborn when she wants to be."

From his corner of the room, Moros was the only other person tied up in a chair. He spoke up, with that familiar arrogance in his voice that John, for once, actually liked. It bolstered his own defiance. "You are dealing with frustrating people. It is something I have come to know from experience." Moros paused, glancing at John in particular. "But as much as they have been a thorn in my side for the last few weeks, Major Sheppard and Dr. Weir have demonstrated more will power and intelligence in the last few hours than you have ever demonstrated in your entire life." John's glossy eyes looked over at Moros with surprise. Did he just give them a compliment? Wonders never cease. "You'll just have to kills us all. We will not cooperate."

John groaned, closing his eyes. There was no need to encourage the guy.

No sooner than he thought the words than Amish tilted his head in contemplation, and sighed. "You're right."

He abruptly turned and shot Melia in the chest. Twice. For a brief moment afterwards, it looked like Melia stood standing simply because of pure disbelief. Her brown eyes blinked with confusion and then her knees buckled under her. Elizabeth screamed her name and ran towards her, but Alana stopped her with a hard blow across the face. Elizabeth stumbled backwards, and faced the barrel end of a gun while Melia lay bleeding on the floor, still alive. Amish sidestepped the pooling puddle of blood entirely to bring the point of his gun to Moros' forehead.

The older man's face grew pale, but the tight expression on it signified cold acceptance. "Kill me if you must. I die knowing I did everything right."

Amish shook his head. "No, Moros. I will succeed. You will die knowing your death is meaningless."

John acted without any plan whatsoever. Using more energy than he should have had left, he lifted up the chair he was strapped into to a couple centimeters off the ground, and peddled backwards until he slammed into a wall. The chair broke into shattered pieces, and the sharp pain that immediately accompanied in his left leg was overridden only by a surge of adrenaline and the knowledge that it was now or never.

Amish reacted first, but Alana was closer. She spun her gun towards him, but a few years of experience in closed combat situations had taught John more than enough. He may have stumbled out of the way of the first blast by pure luck, but recovering quickly, his fight or flight instincts kicked in.

Apparently, so did Elizabeth's. She launched herself at Amish, colliding with him into a pile on the floor. Alana's attention pivoted towards them, and John saw the gun in her hands waver and took advantage. He dove for Alana and slammed into her before she could settle her focus on any one thing. A struggle ensued, but no matter how hard she bucked and riled against his hold, she still weighed less than ninety pounds. He was vaguely aware that Elizabeth was thrown to the floor before he overpowered Alana by pure force and turned her body in his hold until he had her as a shield.

It was Amish's fire that killed Alana, but it was John that held her still while the bullets did their work.

He should have felt regret at the death of a seventeen year old girl, no matter how screwed up she was. He didn't. He didn't even blink. John grabbed the gun that hung limply in Alana's hands, aimed, and pulled the trigger. Amish dove, and proved to be as big a bastard at killing as he had been in everything else. He slammed into the door and stumbled out of the room.

John dropped Alana's body to floor, and came immediately to check on Elizabeth. She was recovering slowly from the floor, but besides a small gash across her forehead, she looked fine. He asked anyway.

She began to answer. "I'm fin–"

"The designs!" Moros shouted, still bound to his chair. "He took the designs!"

John whirled around to find the metal briefcase missing, and cursed. Even before Elizabeth reacted, he fled the room in chase of Amish.

* * *

The chase led – appropriately enough, John thought – to the Gateship Bay. He stumbled into the room sometime after Amish did, and had enough time to see one of the Gateships lift off from one of the landing coves. He didn't even need to think. John ran towards the nearest Gateship, and hurried up its ramp. Quickly settling into the pilot seat and closing the hatch doors behind him, he took a moment to pause in preparation.

"All right," he said to himself, licking his lips nervously. "It's like riding a bike. A bike that you only rode once, and crashed into the ocean. It should be a walk in the park. And I'm mixing metaphors, which I hate."

He geared up the ship's command, and brought the entire thing to life. In his previous life, few things had brought him as much joy as flying. He'd been convinced that his happiest memory of life at the moment of his death was inevitably going to be that of flying an F-16 for the first time in his Air Force career. It had been a thing of beauty, and even if he had thrown up afterwards because he'd grown cocky and pulled one too many G's, he always figured there would be nothing better in life than piloting an F-16.

He was wrong on two counts. One, there was Elizabeth. And two, there was _this._

The Gateship read his mind, and took off after Amish with a handling that John marveled. Drool may have been involved. It followed the other Gateship as it maneuvered through a few tiers of Alterian structures and closed in on a small division at the utmost top of the city. A billion gallons of dark water was separated from Atlantis by a force field shield overhead. He watched as the other ship passed through the force field as if it wasn't even there, entering the ocean water and turning the spaceship into an equivalent of a small submarine.

John shook his head in amazement, and followed into the water after it. He felt the handling of the ship immediately change as it encountered the resistance of the ocean, and speed cut down by at least half. He caught a glimpse of Amish's Gateship rising above him, but both ships seemed to be traveling at the same rate and in the same direction: at the top speed that the water would allow and both towards the surface. He had no idea if Amish had any other destination in mind besides elsewhere, but John was determined not to let him get to it.

The son of a bitch had killed Janus. Trebal. Melia was most likely dead. He had been responsible for poisoning Elizabeth and him on Aurora, although why was still a little fuzzy. Growing angry and frustrated with the lack of progress in advancing on Amish's ship, John found himself turning jittery. The aches of his torture session had faded into the background, but if his adrenaline level dropped off, John knew his body wasn't going to be happy with him in a short period of time.

Fidgeting with controls, John looked for a communication device. He found one. Or rather, one found him. A small holographic screen popped up before him, and with a simple command of his mind, he'd accessed the ship's radio communication.

He wasn't calling Atlantis, though. "Amish, this is Sheppard. Come in." Silence greeted him and, frustrated, John repeated his callings with growing annoyance. "Come on, buddy. I just want to talk. A little chit-chat before we do that whole mano-a-mano thing."

Amish's voice finally came back over the radio, sounding as frustrated and annoyed as John felt. "What is it, Sheppard?"

"I just wanted a moment to talk. You know, without the torture."

"What's there to talk about?"

John's voice turned into a lazy drawl. "Oh, I don't know, how about you explain why you tried to kill me and Elizabeth on the Aurora. What the hell had we done to you at that point?"

"You mean the poison?"

"Was there any other time you tried to kill us on the Aurora?"

"No, just that time."

"Well, then," John began, irritated. "I guess that's what I mean! Why'd you do it?"

Amish's voice sounded casual, as if he was discussing the weather. "Because I had to. I couldn't risk you two returning to Atlantis and convincing the High Council of your cause. I wasn't going to see any time-traveling resources wasted saving the future ten thousand years from now. We need saving now. It was nothing personal. I just didn't want to take the chance that Dr. Weir would be able to sweet talk her way into the Council's good graces."

John raised an eyebrow. Maybe, without his own presence, Elizabeth's support among the High Council might have been stronger. As it was, Amish may have killed the only two people that had liked them much. Janus and Melia had been the only ones that had given a damn. They had paid for that in blood.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that," John muttered, trying to keep his anger and betrayal in check. He couldn't let it cloud his judgment. Still, it festered. "I gotta admit, you had me convinced that you were a good guy."

"I am a good guy."

John rolled his eyes. "Good guys don't kill other good guys."

For a moment, silence reined.

Then Amish answered in a voice that started out reasonable. "It'd be easy for you to think I'm just some crazy guy, but I'm completely rational. This time-machine can save billions of lives, Sheppard." His voice hardened, taking on a sharp edge, "The day my brother died was the day I promised I'd kill every Wraith I ever came across. They are the enemies! They are the scum that we must get rid of! There's _nothing_ saner than what I'm doing now."

John flashed back to the moment where he'd heard Amish talking about his brother's death. At the time, it had seemed natural for the man to be so angry and resentful, but now John realized it was a lot deeper than it had looked. Despite Amish's words to the contrary, John recognized the maniacal touch in everything he did. He was zealot, believing in his cause with a passion that bordered on possessive. John had no doubt in his mind that every Wraith symbolized ultimate evil to Amish, and killing them would in the end justify any action he took. The man was blinded by his rage against the Wraith.

Amish continued in a calmer voice as he changed tactics. "We could even do this together. Travel to the past to kill the Wraith, and then travel to the future to save your expedition. What do you say? We can work together."

John paused for a second then shook his head. "Sorry, buddy, but the moment you started turning homicidal was the moment we stopped playing together in the sandbox."

"Oh, that's naive, Sheppard. This is a time of war. Extreme actions need to be taken."

"I've been in war before," John replied. "I never crossed that line."

"You've never been at war with the Wraith. If you had, you'd think different. Sometimes, the line doesn't matter if it means the survival of your people. Surely you understand that concept."

The real bitch of it was, a part of John did understand that. A big part. It bothered him that he could think like Amish. He struggled for a barbed response, and settled for a change of topic instead. "You're not going to make it out of here alive, Amish. Not with that briefcase. I won't let you."

Frustration ebbed through Amish's words. "I've been flying these ships before I could make them. You won't stand a chance in a fight between us."

John smirked. "Perhaps I didn't make my introductions fully the first time we met. Major John Sheppard, United States _Air Force._ If it can fly, I can fly it."

"Alright, fine. We'll settle this topside, then."

The radio clicked off, cutting off communications, and John was left to silence in his Gateship. Outside the small vessel, the waters gave a wide view of the ocean floor below him. He could see the outline of Atlantis grow smaller and smaller as it receded away, and the thought of Elizabeth down there nagged at him. He hadn't even said anything to her before he took off in a Gateship. He knew he was about to enter a messy fight in a vessel he was still unfamiliar with. All things considered, Elizabeth should have been the last thing on his mind. He knew that, so he shut away any voices in his head that whispered of her. He couldn't afford distractions right now, and Elizabeth was liable to be the biggest kind.

When light started to stream through the waters, John realized they were approaching the surface. He saw Amish's Gateship pierce the skin of the ocean about thirty seconds before John paved his way through the surface himself. A clear cloudless sky greeted him, blinding in its brightness. Below, a lustrous blue ocean stretched on as far as the eye could see, excluding a small patch of a mainland he could make out in the distance. The planet was beautiful. This was really the first chance he'd gotten to see it from any view that wasn't underwater.

Too bad he was too busy chasing Amish to appreciate any of it.

A firefight immediately began as each Gateship flew through the sky and circled around each other. A drone fired from Amish's Gateship first, and John took evasive maneuver. He dodged right, and fired back. The back and forth interplay between the two ships quickly grew into a frenzy of chaos as each battling Gateship arched high and criss-crossed pathways over the Atlantis skies. Amish proved to be an adept pilot, but his aim with the drones was turning out to be his weak point.

John didn't have the same problem.

He belatedly spotted a Wraith Hive Ship in the distant horizon of the planet, coming straight towards them, and realized his problems were altogether different. _Shit._ He'd forgotten about the patrolling Hive Ships that swept the surface of the ocean water in search for the Lost City. They hadn't found it in the last two years the City had been submerged, but the Wraith were persistent bastards. He'd heard reports that upwards of half a dozen Hive Ships orbited the planet at any given time. Skimming along the surface of the ocean water in a Gateship battle had to be attracting unwanted attention.

_Shit._ It was worth repeating.

"Amish–" he began, accessing the radio. A drone suddenly impacted against the side of John's Gateship. It rocked everything to the side, and John was nearly pitched out of his pilot chair. He recovered and clicked the radio on in annoyance. "Hive Ship! Check your six, you jackass!"

The Hive Ship in question suddenly released a group of Wraith Darts from its bowels. Over a dozen of them, John quickly counted. They flew in formation as they closed in on the distance and John glanced back at Amish's Gateship in time to see it vanish into thin air. Invisibility cloak. Why didn't he remember that?! He proceeded to think about his own Gateship doing the invisibility thing. When he glanced down at the surface of the water below, his reflection was suddenly missing.

_Sweet._

Up in the sky, drones emerged out of _nowhere_ and started firing. For a second, John thought Amish was firing at him, but then he noticed that the weapons were headed towards the Dart ships instead. _Amish,_ he thought, _what the hell are you doing? Even invisible, you can't take on a dozen Darts!_

He clicked on his radio. "Amish, invisibility only works if you don't give away your position! Stop firing!"

"What? Now you're concerned for me, Sheppard?"

John paused. "Point."

A Dart suddenly exploded, followed by another. Amish was using all his drones and energy on the Wraith, and just when John knew he was going to run out of supply and then probably disappear entirely – something that couldn't happen – John changed tactics, tracking Amish's movements. He watched for the point of origin for all the drones, and took aim. He paused, though, disquieted. It seemed wrong to be targeting him when a group of Wraith Darts swarmed around him, but he couldn't afford to let Amish disappear entirely.

"See, Sheppard? Killing Wraith is what I'm destined to–"

A Dart fired a missile at Amish before John had to. He watched in silence as it impacted Amish's Gateship, instantly disabling the invisibility clock, and exploded into a steep fiery decline into the ocean below. The remaining Darts continued to circle around the area, probably still searching for John's Gateship, but hidden by the invisibility cloak, he wasn't going to be found. He watched the fiery wreckage of Amish's ship sink beneath the ocean's surface, and sighed. Janus' designs had gone down with it.

Frustrated and angry, John veered his ship back towards the ocean. He disappeared under the dark waters, returning to Atlantis, realizing his last chance at saving his expedition had just been entirely extinguished.

It was official. Fate hated them.

* * *

When he landed, Moros greeted him at the foot of the Gateship ramp with two Healers in tow. He glanced at them wearily and knew another extended stay in the infirmary was in order. _Yippee._ Idly, he figured the thought of that was somehow worse than the torture he'd just gone through.

He glanced towards Moros, delaying the inevitable. "The designs are destroyed, and Amish is dead."

Moros nodded. "We saw. We were tracking your movements from down here." He cleared his throat, and continued in a lower voice. "It seems I owe you my gratitude. Not only for saving my life, but for proving that you are an honorable man."

John raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Okaaaay."

Embarrassed, Moros quickly turned back and nodded towards the Healers. "Take him to the infirmary."

John sighed, and started walking next to them as they exited. Moros accompanied him for a short while, but John's attention was elsewhere. He glanced around. "Where's Elizabeth?"

"She's already in the infirmary."

"What? Why?" Alarm coursed through him. "Was she hurt?"

Moros shook his head. "No. She's waiting on Melia. The Healers are performing surgery now."

"Oh," John replied, shoulders sagging in relief. He glanced away from the knowing look on Moros' face, and spoke up. "Melia… how is she?"

This time, Moros looked away. "She sustained serious injuries, most likely fatal, but... we have the best Healers working on her."

John nodded. "I'm sure she'll be fine then. They've saved my ass more times than I can count."

Moros looked back at him, unexpected humor lighting his eyes. "Yes, it seems trouble does love to harass you."

"Hey," John replied, feigning indignation. "I happened to live a normal life before coming to Atlantis, thank you very much. It's only since coming here that all the crazy stuff has happened."

Moros raised an eyebrow, but didn't further comment. Silence settled for the rest of the trip to the infirmary, and although John wasn't sure how, there was a definite shift away from antagonism between him and Moros now. He supposed being held captive together could be considered a bonding moment, but he still wasn't quite sure how to behave with Moros. He'd gotten used to all the yelling and threats.

Just outside the infirmary, Moros stopped. "I have things to attend to. For one, I have an innocent man in jail to free."

John cringed, not because of the man framed for Janus' murder. He knew that one had been suspicious to begin with, but this reminded him of the other glaring misjudgments made on his part. He thought Foril had been behind everything. For a while, he'd even suspected Moros. He'd befriended Amish since the beginning. He'd thought Alana was an innocent girl with a school-girl crush on him. He'd made some gigantic errors that had nearly gotten him and Elizabeth killed on more than one occasion. That was unforgivable.

Moros, apparently, was a mind reader. "Do not be so hard on yourself, Major. A lot of us were fooled by Amish and Alana."

John politely nodded. "Say hello to Foril there for me, if you see him."

Hesitantly, Moros nodded, then turned on his heels and left.

The Healers guided him into the infirmary, although John paid them little attention. He was too busy scanning the area for Elizabeth. When he finally spotted her sitting in the corner of the room, something in him instantly unknotted. She looked up, eyes connecting with his and John saw a wealth of relief reflected there, mixed up and swirling around with stronger emotions. She rose and walked over to him as fast as dignity would let her, and then apparently forgot dignity entirely as she practically launched herself into his arms.

Unfortunately, the first thing he felt was pain.

His body was finally coming down from his adrenalin rush and his muscles were paying the price. The pressure of Elizabeth's body was a sharp reminder that an hour ago, he'd been suffering at the hands of Amish. He pushed that thought away, though, as well as the pain. He determinedly drew her into a bone crushing hug, arms tightening around her until they must have cut off her circulation. Like him, she didn't complain.

They both should have cared that they were standing in the middle of a busy infirmary full of people, holding onto each other for dear life, but John found he thought of nothing in that moment except Elizabeth. He had nearly lost her – again. He wasn't sure how they kept getting themselves into life and death situations, and how, defying all odds and logic, they kept pulling through, but he was hoping that bit was finally over.

When they separated, he saw raw emotion brimming in her eyes. "I was watching the Gateships. I saw one of them explode up there. God, I didn't know if it was you or Amish."

He bit back a flinch. "I'm fine. Really."

"You were just tortured, John. Don't tell me you're fine."

He quirked an eyebrow, trying to stay lighthearted. "Well, I do have a small booboo on my lips. Wanna kiss it better?"

He'd been joking, but she took it seriously. She leaned into him and took his mouth with hers, hot and wet and needy. It was tinged with desperation too, and John immediately responded with everything of the same. Desire instantly rolled through his gut, and he tugged at her greedily. This was a type of homecoming a man could get use to. When they pulled back, his whole body was alive and tingling.

They were also the center of attention to a room full of people. Elizabeth flushed bright red, and hid her face against his chest.

John just laughed.

--


	10. Chapter 10

Days turned into weeks, and the city of Atlantis limped onwards like a wounded animal.

The Alterians had a saying: Surrender comes only at the cost of all hope. John could feel hope fading. Fast.

All traces of the Aurora had disappeared without so much as a peep or a whisper. People in the City were coming to realize that even if it succeeded its mysterious mission, by the time it returned from it, the struggle with the Wraith might have reached beyond the critical point. Although everyone knew it was one of their best battleships, they also knew speed was not its forte. If the Aurora went to the far reaches of the Galaxy, it could take weeks, if not months, before it returned. And time was not on their side.

Alterian planets all across the galaxy continued evacuating. Atlantis was deemed the epicenter for all the refugees. In the last few weeks, the City's population had nearly tripled. Transport ships made the quest from every direction in the Pegasus, suffering Wraith attacks along the way. If, by some miracle, they survived the long trek, the transports still had to fight through half a dozen more Hive ships orbiting the planet Atlantis called home.

Having proved his skill under fire with a Gateship, John was allowed to take up the call as an honorary Alterian fighter pilot. Whenever transport ships made their way close enough to Atlantis, a large batch of invisible Gateships were released into the atmosphere, ushering the refugees safely in. He'd clocked more time fighting Wraith Darts in the last few weeks than he had flying F-16s against Migs the entire time he was in Afghanistan.

Each time he went out, he could tell Elizabeth wanted to protest. She didn't. She knew as well as he did that they both needed to do whatever they could to help. Atlantis may not have been Earth, but it was as close to home as either one of them would ever know again. While they were more of refugees to this place than the Alterians he ushered in, that didn't change the fact that they both had a personal interest in seeing the continued survival of the City.

That they had no way to save the future expedition remained a grim fact that shadowed both of them, though. Without Janus' designs, the possibility of time-travel was gone. Without that, their expedition was doomed to fail all over again in ten thousands years.

Stress built. The population grew. Atlantis became the definition of a tense environment. Everywhere John looked, grave faces greeted him. Pointless fights broke out, people broke down, and the number of orphaned children that kept arriving in the City struck a harsh cord with everyone. The Wraith had been busy these last few weeks, executing the large number of cullings across nearly every single Alterian planet stronghold.

The human populated planets suffered an even worse fate. Near annihilation.

Each day battered him down, and each night drove him into Elizabeth's arms. Sex served as relief and comfort. Bathed in sweat as their bodies intertwined, John knew the only moments of peace he felt was when he was with her, or better yet, inside of her. Those were the only moments of sanity that were worth keeping alive in this entire fucked up reality.

* * *

Nightmares haunted him. They differed in the small details, but otherwise remained constant. The people in them – the ones that John never saved – drifted through his subconscious, reminding him of his failures.

Colonel Sumner never missed an opportunity to point out John's short-comings. "You see?" he said, slamming a hand down onto the table he loomed over. His wet soaked BDUs splashed water everywhere, but John was too busy staring at his Commanding Officer's stern face to care. "This is what I was talking about, Major. You're useless. No way an irresponsible, Air Force Academy brat was gonna save all of our sorry Marine asses. It was all about you. Save yourself, flyboy, that's all you thought about."

John found himself sitting in the mess hall of Atlantis, with Sumner hovering on the other side of the table that separated them. He swallowed hard and pushed his plate of half-eaten French fries away. "With all due respect, Sir, you don't know what the hell you're talking about." But his voice sounded far away, hollow even. Sumner just glared at him.

McKay suddenly plopped down beside John. Like Sumner, his clothes were soaked and dripping wet. 'Side effect of being drowned,' he stated in a haughty tone when John had asked. He glanced at the steaming bowl of soup in front of him, and frowned. "You don't think this has lemon in it, do you?"

From the next table over, Lt. Ford rolled his eyes and poked fun at the scientist. "You're already dead, Doctor McKay. What's the worse that could happen?"

"Oh, ha ha. Very funny. Tease the scientist that died a valiant and heroic death saving this one's sorry ass," he thumbed at John. But McKay was an equal opportunity insulter – John knew that from day-one – and continued to sneer at Ford. "How did you die, may I ask? Hit your head on a hard pole?"

"Knock it off!" Sumner growled, slamming a fist on the table again, sending a wave of sea water into John's eyes. He cleared his stinging vision, while the other two beside him both looked at the Colonel in alarm. Sumner kept his attention riveted on John, though. "You're cracking under the pressure, Major. Screwing Dr. Weir every chance you get is not a good cooping mechanism." Sumner smirked. "Sure it's fun, but you gotta pull your head out of her ass at some point."

A strike of anger stiffened John's spine, and he leaned forward, gaining confidence and strength he hadn't had a moment ago. "Alright, that's the final--"

McKay snorted. "Ah, there's a dose of that Neanderthal alpha male behavior I never got the chance to properly despise and ridicule." He stood up quickly – his chair squealing in protest on the hard floor, the fingernails on a chalkboard sound that made John's hair stand on end – and then slanted a surprised and curious look towards John. "Wait. You and Elizabeth? Huh. And here I thought she had better taste than that."

"Shut up, McKay," Sheppard replied, turning back to Sumner. "I'm handling everything just fine."

Sumner didn't look remotely convinced. "Just admit it. You were never qualified to enter into this expedition. Dr. Weir was the only reason you got in."

"The gene," McKay corrected, munching on the long forgotten fries. "He got in because of the ATA gene. Elizabeth only wanted him for his body." Ford chuckled, and then McKay realized his own joke, slowly grinning.

"Major Sheppard!" Zelenka called, from the corner of the room. For some reason, he and Beckett were riding unicycles circling one another while balancing spoons on their noses. They looked pleased. "We have mastered the impossible! The entire galaxy will change because of this!"

McKay looked offended. "I can do better than that!"

He rushed over to the two men only to turn and face John just as a plate glass window broke and salt water coursed inside. McKay ducked just in time as a wave rolled into the mess hall, and the walls creaked against the pressure. John looked around for someone to help McKay, but no one seemed to notice he'd gone under and hadn't come back up. For some reason, John didn't feel compelled to help McKay out himself, although vague alarm did surge up his spine.

Zelenka and Beckett continued circling each other even as the water swallowed up their unicycles. The water didn't faze anyone, least of all Sumner who stood waist deep in it.

He felt a friendly slap on his shoulder, and turned to see Ford. "Relax, Sir. There's nothin' to be done now."

Water flooded to his knees. He looked at the young man who'd been so eager, so gleeful to step through the gate and into the unknown. John could barely hear his own words over the rush of the water. "We're still trying to save you," he said to Ford. "Elizabeth and I –"

"Are what?" Sumner cut in. "Hoping the secrets of time-travel will be revealed through an orgasm?"

John's right hook snapped out and caught Sumner in the face before he even thought about it. His CO flopped back into the rising water, coming up sputtering. The unexpected sound of applause startled John for a moment, and he turned to see Janus clapping with enthusiasm. Ford moved in to stand next to Janus and soon they were joined by McKay, Zelenka and Beckett. All clapping.

Janus waded through the rising water, settled a hand on John's shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially. "We need to walk, Major."

John nodded and blinked, only to find himself in the blue bowels of the Aurora. Janus started immediately walking down the corridor, and John found himself rushing to catch up with him.

He was disconcerted when he spotted Trebel coming from the other end of the hallway, body half ravaged by the explosion that had killed her. Crippled with barely functioning legs, she hobbled along the blue interior of Aurora, trailing red blood everywhere she went. He opened his mouth to say something, but her grotesque image rendered him speechless. She simply smiled at John – in a way she wasn't known for in life – and continued limping past him before he could think of anything to say to her. He found half the back of her head missing.

"You need to understand something," Janus said, catching John's attention again. "We're all rooting for you, we really are."

"Yeah," John replied, throat dry. "That's good to know."

Janus raised an eyebrow, slanting him a look that was half admonishing. "But your performance lately has been rather… disappointing."

"Disappointing?" John repeated. A thought struck him and he felt a little anxiety lift his voice. "What," he cleared his throat, "What performance are we talking about here?"

Janus sighed. "Not everything is an innuendo, Major. I was talking about your inability to do your job. You've become remarkably lax in saving people's lives lately."

Annoyance fluttered. "I'm trying my best."

"Unfortunately, that isn't good enough. I died because of you. The least you could do is give it some meaning."

"I'm trying," John insisted.

They turned the corner, and came upon a row of stasis pods across the long expanse of one corridor. A few stood upright, with clear glass panels showcasing the hollow insides. Except for one.

John stared wide-eyed at the lone occupant. Himself.

He realized with a creeping sickness in his stomach that this must have been the very same stasis pod that kept him at the edge of life while they had made their trek back from Olesia to Atlantis. Elizabeth was standing in front of it, hands splayed across the front glass cover. She looked anguished, but he couldn't voice anything because it seemed too personal a moment to interrupt. He could actually see himself frozen, seemingly lifeless, inside. It should have been disconcerting. But, strangely, it wasn't. Instead, memories gnawed at him, rolling vague words across his mind: _Stasis pods… Janus._

He turned back to Janus, and the scientist knowingly raised an eyebrow while blood began trickling out of the lethal injection mark on his neck. "Try harder."

John woke up with a gasp.

* * *

Inside the Holographic Room, John watched Melia deliver a farewell speech that his expedition was destined to find ten thousand years from now.

_"This city's great shield was powerful enough to withstand their terrible weapons but here we were besieged for many years. In an effort to save the last of our kind, we submerged our great city into the ocean."_ She paused, taking a moment to contain her emotions. When she finally continued, John was surprised that she managed to do it with a steady voice. _"The Atlantis Stargate was the one and only link back to Earth from this galaxy, and those who remained used it to return to that world that was once home. There, the last survivors of Atlantis will live out the remainder of their lives. This city will be left to slumber, in the hope that our kind will one day return."_

Beside him, Elizabeth pulled away and walked out the door before Melia had even shut the holographic recording off. John watched her go, but didn't follow. He starkly remembered the first time he'd heard those words. At the time, he'd been full of wonder and excitement that he'd barely been able to hide. Now, it was the exact opposite: the end of an era instead of the beginning of one.

He imagined Elizabeth's spirit was being crushed by much the same thought. She'd been distant the last few days. Specifically why, he didn't know, but he'd come to instinctively understand when she needed him and when she needed space. Lately, she needed space. He could give her that.

Instead, he turned back to Melia. Still recovering from Amish's attempt on her life, Melia was obviously pushing herself too hard and fast. She looked pale and fragile, but not even Moros had been able to convince her to take more rest. She had replied to his somewhat heated request with an unsurprisingly defiant answer: "I will rest when I am dead." John figured that's what everybody in Atlantis had been thinking lately, in one form or another.

As she geared down the last of the controls, Melia froze with her hand on the dials. "I had hoped never to make that speech."

John shifted awkwardly, unable to think of much to say. "It was a good speech."

She nodded, forcefully pulling herself out of the funk. "It is just a precautionary step at this point. If we do evacuate back to Earth, I do not think we will have much time to make preparations such as this. There is still hope we might not have to use this recording."

He didn't have the heart to tell her that it was going to be used, witnessed in fact, by him and the rest of the Earth expedition. Let her have hope, he thought, even if it was false. But after watching the actual making of this recording, John felt the stark truth weigh heavily on his mind with undeniable finality: in a short matter of time – days, if they were lucky – the Ancients would flee the Pegasus Galaxy forever.

He plastered on a false smile. "Personally, that speech rivals Saint Crispin's Day speech. You've got a flare for words, Melia."

"Saint Crispin's Day speech?" Melia repeated, bewildered.

As he walked her out the door, he shrugged. _"'From this day to the ending of the world. But we in it shall be remembered. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers…'_ Or something like that. I could be wrong with the words. Shakespeare was never my thing."

Melia studied him with continued confusion. "You are an interesting man, John Sheppard," she commented amicably, but she was smiling. So, mission accomplished.

John smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment."

* * *

He found Elizabeth standing near the banister of the upper levels of the Control Room, looking out over the meager activity of the Gateroom below. The energy of the wide open space had lessened considerably since all off-world activity had been indefinitely suspended. And while the overpopulation of the City ensured that rest of Atlantis was brimming with people, the Gateroom was one of the few places modestly occupied. It wasn't restricted; just actively avoided by most.

During the last few weeks, however, Elizabeth had been spending more and more time here. Whenever he went off to do his fighter pilot thing, he returned to inevitably find her here doing one odd-end task or another. She hadn't found a niche in this place like he had, though. He could tell that bothered her, even if she never voiced the thought.

He leaned against the railings next to her and, for all the attention they drew from the people around them, they might as well have been the last two people in the City. No one blinked twice at them now in this room or any other.

"What do you think Earth is like, eight thousand BC?" Elizabeth asked in a quiet voice, instinctively knowing it was him at her side without a glance in his direction. "It'd be the Late Stone Age period, I think. Our ancestors will be able to use bows and arrows and tools, and we'll have fire. I'm trying to think of more, but honestly, that's all I know. Where's Daniel Jackson when you need him?"

"He's not born yet."

She threw him a wry look. "Oh, yeah. I had nearly forgotten."

John shrugged, and decided to answer her original question, even if it had been rhetorical. "I'll guess we'll find out soon enough what good old, old, _old_ Earth is like."

Elizabeth nodded and offered a slim optimistic smile. "I suppose we should be glad that at least it's Earth, even if it isn't our time. There'll be some familiarity."

"Elizabeth–"

"I know. I know. I'm trying too hard."

"It's not that," he said, and then dragged her backwards closer to him. He brushed a feather kiss across the patch of skin near the base of her neck. "I'm just worried about you."

Somebody conspicuously cleared their throat behind them. Elizabeth briefly closed her eyes in embarrassment and pulled herself free. John sighed in aggravation. He was beginning to feel like a schoolboy the number of times he'd been caught in some sort of intimate position with her these last few weeks. He used to hate public displays of affection too; now he couldn't stop. It was slightly embarrassing for a man his age.

But then again, John never acted his age in the first place. Not if he could help it.

Moros was waiting patiently when John turned around and slid next to Elizabeth against the railings. The older Alterian stood with his arms crossed over his chest, but John knew now that the glowering expression on his face was more a default expression for Moros than anything else. He looked disapproving, but that was just how Moros always looked. After the whole Amish debacle, John had learned the guy actually had a soft spot somewhere beneath all that sternness. One just had to figure out how to remove the pole wedged up his ass first.

"I need to speak with both of you," he said, nodding his head to the side.

John exchanged a glance with Elizabeth, and then they both followed Moros to the large glass office nearby. Elizabeth quietly settled into one of the visitor's chairs and John leaned against the armrest, perching on the edge.

Moros turned back and looked at Elizabeth expectantly. "Did you tell him, yet?"

Elizabeth shook her head, glancing briefly up at John and then away. "No. I kept my word, Moros."

Moros nodded. "Good. I'm glad."

"Kept your word about what?" John asked, looking between the two in confusion. Elizabeth was avoiding eye-contact and, instantly uneasy about why, John repeated his question to Moros with a definite _tone._ "About what?"

Moros motioned to the other chair in the room. "Sit down, Major. I think it's time we fill you in on some details that have been evolving these last few days."

Brows knit in confusion, he looked down to Elizabeth for further explanation. When she finally returned his gaze, he knew her expression was being carefully controlled. The look of a diplomat. A negotiator. Not his lover. That irked him more than the fact that something had obviously been going on without his knowledge. He turned back to Moros and pushed off his perch, standing defiantly. "I'm good," he said, lightly. "Now why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"John," Elizabeth began, trading a look with Moros that clearly stated she wanted to take the lead on this one. Moros nodded and Elizabeth rose and faced him with a stance he could only describe as bracing herself for something explosive. "I've been in secret meetings with the High Council the last few days."

John raised an eyebrow, unsure of how to respond. "Okay."

"We've been discussing the details of our situation," Elizabeth continued, motioning between them. "About our expedition. I've been trying to convince the Council to help us."

Numerous questions immediately popped into his mind. He picked the easiest. "You have? Why wasn't I told?"

Moros answered this one. "Because we asked her not to. Melia and I had enough problems granting Dr. Weir access to the meetings. The rest of the High Council refused to allow anyone else to enter."

John opened and closed his mouth, and turned back to Elizabeth. "What have you been talking about? I thought Janus' designs had been destroyed."

"They have," Moros answered, cutting in again. "Without years of research being devoted to it, one can assume that those designs will be lost forever."

"You planning on letting anyone do that research?"

Moros paused, and then shook his head abruptly. "Of course not, Major. You know me better than that. I would never attempt to meddle with the time-line like that."

John nodded. That much was true. The day Moros became a time-traveler was the day John's hair decided it wanted to cooperate with his comb. It was just never gonna happen. "Then what?" John asked. "If we don't have a time-machine, how can we help the expedition?"

Elizabeth licked her lips, a nervous habit he wondered if she picked up from him, and then locked eyes with him. "There is a way, John. One that Janus mentioned to you. The Stasis Pods."

John glanced between them. "Am I missing something here? Unless the Stasis Pods can last ten thousand years, I don't see how–"

"They can," Elizabeth cut in, voice firm.

John stopped, and looked at her with a slack jaw. "Come again?"

Moros gave a sharp laugh. "Why would you assume they couldn't last ten thousand years? Granted, it is not an ideal situation. Being preserved in a Stasis Pod for so long, there will be… _side effects._"

At that moment, John was only concerning himself with the other details. "You mean we can use them to wait out ten thousand years? Save our expedition that way?"

Elizabeth nodded, eagerly with a hint of hope blooming in her eyes. "Yes. That's what we've been discussing in the High Council. I've been trying to convince them that it wouldn't harm the natural progression of the time-line, like time-traveling would do. It was a fine line to walk."

"And? Did you convince them?"

Moros smiled encouragingly, leaning back in his chair. "Doctor Weir is a fine diplomat."

Immediately realizing the implications, John could barely keep the astonishment out of his voice. "God, Elizabeth, why didn't you tell me before?!"

"Because," Elizabeth began. "I couldn't–"

John rolled his eyes, quickly remembering. "Right, right. Secrecy and all that." He paused, the weight of the situation settling down on him. The smile that had just begun to curl his lips quickly ebbed off, and he glanced at Elizabeth with a serious expression settling firmly onto his face. "We can do this," he said, full of meaning. "We can save them."

Elizabeth nodded, eyes instantly brimming with emotion. It took a second for John to realize that it wasn't with complete joy. Concern made him walk closer to her, but confusion laced his words. "Hey, what's wrong?"

For a moment, Elizabeth seemed unable to answer, so when Moros cleared his throat, John turned back to the Alterian for the explanation. The grim expression on his face looked somehow different this time. So different, that it slowly melted John's remaining enthusiasm completely like a splash of scalding water.

"Like I stated earlier," Moros said, in a voice that boded ill news. "There will be side-effects."

Before Elizabeth turned away from him, John saw complete and utter anguish streak across her face.

* * *

John stared at the Stasis Pods before them with too many emotions to put to name. "So, if we do this, we die."

He'd heard the whole song and dance three times now, so it wasn't a question anymore. Moros had explained the scientific implications in annoying detail before he left to attend to other things, and now, John and Elizabeth were taking a tour of the things that would be their housing for the next ten thousand years.

"We both knew that sacrifices would be necessary to save the expedition, John." Elizabeth's hands slipped inside his, and she squeezed tightly. _"Our people."_

John blew out a forceful breath. Whenever he thought about sacrifices, he thought about dying in battle. He thought about jumping in front of a bullet to save someone else. He thought about risking the Wraith's hands to spare someone else the same fate. Not this. Not silently aging over the course of almost-forever until all that was left was a dry husk of the man before. It would have been better to die a soldier's death. A quick death. Not like what these Stasis Pods promised.

"Two times," Elizabeth said. "We emerge together every 3.3 thousand years to rotate the Z.P.M.s. Moros has already shown me how."

"You've been planning this a lot, huh?"

"Little else for the last few days," she replied. "I was just waiting for the Council's final approval today."

John shook his head, feeling numb. "No wonder you've been distant lately."

"I wanted to tell you, John. I just couldn't. By allowing me admittance, the Council was placing an incredible amount of trust in me. I couldn't jeopardize that by telling you when they explicitly told me not to." She sighed. "I'm sorry."

Frustrated, he ran his free hand through his hair. "Don't apologize, Elizabeth. You figured out a way to save them."

Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow. "Actually, it was Moros who figured it out. I was shocked when he came to me with the idea."

"Moros, huh?" John licked his lips, speaking idly. "Well, I'll be damned. Maybe there's hope for him yet. Gotta remember to thank the guy."

"John–"

"Don't, Elizabeth. Just don't."

Silence settled, and they both stood side by side and stared with unwavering scrutiny at their Stasis Pods. Their last chance of hope at saving their expedition. Their chance to do something right and salvage this City.

Their coffins.

* * *

He wrote two letters.

One, to the alternate version of himself that he would most likely stumble upon in the future, and the other to Elizabeth.

The first was flippant, filled with dry humor and sarcastic comments about the Ancient's form of fashion and their sense of fun. He trickled in anecdotes about his time here, but he left some things purposely vague. He didn't talk about his relationship with Elizabeth much, well aware that the letter might one day fall into the hands of superior officers and SGC officials. Elizabeth and he both agreed to keep their private relationship exactly that – private. Besides, John fully intended on teasing his double in person, not in some letter.

Mostly, he wrote about the Wraith. Governed by his military side, once he began detailing his experience with them, a whole host of information began pouring out onto the paper. If plans went right, the Stasis Pods would be revived the moment the expedition stepped foot on Atlantis. One of the few things John couldn't afford to ignore was the possibility of the continued threat of the Wraith, even after such an extended period of time. His counterpart would need to know about them. He'd need to be aware of their strengths and their almost non-existent weaknesses.

He slipped in five Gate addresses, too. Planets that currently housed ZPMs, and would hopefully have them still in stock ten thousand years down the line. Elizabeth insisted on keeping a copy of her own, too. John knew it wasn't going to be necessary, but for reasons he knew she wouldn't understand until it was too late, he kept his mouth shut.

The second letter was short. Simple. An explanation and a confession in one. He wrote it in under five minutes, and then stared at the few words written for another ten. He shoved it inside a drawer and told himself to forget about it. But that didn't work. As he walked away, his fingers clutched the pen so tightly that it snapped it in half.

He concentrated on other things. He piloted the Gateships through war-infested skies whenever transport ships made their next delivery. He analyzed reports and updates on the most recent Wraith cullings across the Galaxy with the rest of the military here. He listened to the stories of the refugees, and helped them adjust to Atlantis. He silently aided everyone in making the preparations necessary for an evacuation back to Earth that was inevitable. The wait, he thought, was almost worse than the thought of evacuation. People still stayed, though, waiting for some news from the Aurora and its too-good-to-be-true mission.

John knew now what they couldn't accept. The Aurora, wherever it was, was not going to return to Atlantis. At least, not in time to make any difference. The City's population had reached a critical point, and if they continued to wait, resources would be tested beyond their limits. He knew Moros, Melia, and the other High Council members would only wait so long before giving the final command of evacuation. It'd only take a straw to break their backs at this point. One single straw.

That straw, it turned out, was a transport ship that housed over three hundred people. It took enemy fire and went down in a fiery explosion over the ocean waters of Atlantis. John saw the entire thing from the cockpit of his Gateship nearby.

By the time he returned back to Atlantis, the evacuation had begun.

* * *

The City was in chaos.

As he wove his way through the corridors of Atlantis, searching for Elizabeth, the panic stricken faces of the Alterians around him created a sense of claustrophobia that John had to beat down with sheer will power. He ignored the hustle and bustle of all the activity around him, and set his sights on finding Elizabeth.

The time had come to use the Stasis Pods. Once the City had evacuated, the High Council had granted John and Elizabeth permission to use the devices. Not before. Too many things could have gone wrong with so many people around and the Stasis Pod program was a delicate system as it was. They all agreed to hold off on using them until there was no one else left in the City that could – advertently or inadvertently – tamper with the controls.

Within hours, the vast City would be empty. John knew it was time to say goodbye.

He found Melia first. She was busy ushering several others into large groups that traveled through the Stargate towards Earth. The established wormhole had already transported several other dozen groups, and now it stood shimmering with blue water, captivating his undivided attention. John knew some version of his home lay behind it, but he had to forcefully shake his head to dispel the distraction. There wasn't time for that now.

He helped Melia gather the groups for a short while, but when she assured him that she'd be among the last to leave Atlantis, John slipped away in search for Elizabeth again. Things kept distracting him, however. At one point, a wandering child had somehow attached himself to John's leg, and he spent the next half-hour searching for his parents. The six-year old boy had been scared to death the entire time, and for once, his trademark bond with children had lost its effect entirely.

When he finally found the parents, John had never been more relieved to be released from babysitting duties in his entire life. His father hoisted the young boy onto his shoulders, and John watched the small face disappear into a sea of dozens of others. For some indefinable reason, he knew the imagery of that would stick with him for the rest of his life.

By the time he finally found Elizabeth, working in the infirmary to gather up the last of the critically ill or wounded patients for the move, the City had been nearly fully evacuated. Only a few other stragglers remained behind, and with them, Melia and Moros remained back at the Gateroom holding down the fort. Elizabeth spotted him from across the room, and even though John felt like he was being pulled in every direction by a dozen different people, he made it a point to cross over and greet her.

"Grab the last of the inventory," Elizabeth said, distracted as she directed some Alterian nearby. "Don't go light on the first aide supplies."

"We have plenty of those," the Atlerian protested.

John cut in. "You can never have too much gauze," he said cheekily, and turned to Elizabeth. "Hey, you okay?"

She was too busy directing another woman nearby to pay attention. He had to grab her hand and physically drag her concentration back to him before her eyes focused. She smiled, tightly. "Sorry, it's been hectic here."

"Yeah, I can see that."

Someone called from nearby. "Dr. Weir, Major Sheppard! We need some help moving these patients!"

He sighed, and together they got swept up in the chaos again. By the time they'd finally gathered everyone up and made their way towards the Stargate, he realized he hadn't had one single moment alone with Elizabeth the entire day. Today, of all days, he knew he couldn't let that happen.

As the others moved on ahead to the Gateroom, he pulled Elizabeth aside into an abandoned corridor. She stared at him with confusion at being held behind, but when he pulled her tight against his chest, she didn't resist for even a split second.

"God, John," she whispered, confessing, almost trembling against his chest. "This is... I don't even--"

John closed his eyes, and kissed her forehead. "I know. I'm scared, too."

"It's really happening."

"It really is."

She kissed him then, a brief brush of lips against lips. "God, I don't know what I would do without you. You keep me sane."

John smirked. "Most women in the past usually said I drove them crazy."

But she was serious now, he could tell. "I couldn't do all this by myself," she whispered, staring up at him. "If you hadn't been here..."

John quieted her when he pulled her back into another hug. He could tell where she was going with this, and knew better. If circumstances had been different and Elizabeth had to go it alone, John had no doubt in his mind that she would have succeeded. She was just that strong.

When they pulled back, Elizabeth was all business again. "Come on. We don't have time for this now. We have to see the others off." She brushed a hair away from her face, and then began pulling him in the direction of the Gateroom. Reluctantly, John let her drag him away.

When they arrived, John caught several people vanishing into the event horizon until only Melia and Moros were left behind. The entire Gateroom was vacant now, illuminated only by the flickering blue light that gave an unearthly glow to everything. Elizabeth walked forward, and exchanged goodbyes with Melia first, embracing her in a tight hug that lingered.

Moros stood opposite of John, back stiff. He glanced around the Gateroom with a tight expression, and then his eyes settled on John. "Take care of her, Major. This City is now in your hands."

John nodded, solemnly. "I'll do my best, Sir."

Melia smiled up at him, and then walked forward to brush a light kiss across his cheek. "I'm sure you will, Major."

John smiled, looking at them both. "Make sure to take care of Earth for us, huh. We kinda need it in a couple of years."

Elizabeth settled beside John, intertwining fingers together with his. "And take care, Moros. Try not to turn too rebellious in retirement."

This time, Moros laughed. "Oh, you never know. Maybe I'll surprise you all."

John refrained from rolling his eyes, and then Elizabeth and John walked them both up to the wormhole. The four stopped just before the event horizon, and another quick farewell uttered, Melia and Moros both reluctantly disappeared into a galaxy far, far away. The wormhole stayed engaged for a moment longer, but even still, the sudden silence left behind was deafening.

It was time.

He turned towards Elizabeth, and spoke quickly, "Elizabeth, I'm sorry."

She glanced up at him in confusion, the green in her eyes melding with the reflected blue of the horizon. "For what?"

"For this," he said, pulling out a letter from his pocket, and slipping it between her hands. "It'll explain everything."

He dragged her into a kiss before she had time to question anything further, pouring his regret into it in lieu of things he didn't have time to say. When he pulled back, John abruptly pushed her into the event horizon and watched as her shocked face disappeared behind the watery surface. The wormhole shut down a mere split-second later, and John had to clutch the side of the Stargate to keep from buckling under the weight of his own body.

_There. It was done. She was safe._

… And then, he was alone.

--


	11. Chapter 11

He felt grief to the point where he felt nothing at all.

Numb and blurry eyed, his legs carried him down the corridors with graceless strides as soon as enough strength had returned for him to do so. Detached from everything that felt real, John walked - wandering, probably aimlessly - away from the Stargate that had systematically taken away everything good in his life.

There was only one thing left to do now. One thing he had to accomplish, and then he'd slumber in a slow oblivion that John personally considered a fate worse than death. As far as he was concerned, he'd already taken his last breath. It would just take ten thousand years for the effects to catch up with him.

It wasn't fair - wasn't even in the same reality as the word fair was, but it had to be done.

Elizabeth wouldn't understand that, but he was willing to live with the fear of her hatred for the rest of his life as long as he had saved her from sharing the same fate that now awaited him. There was only one person necessary to do the job of rotating the Z.P.M.s over the next ten millenniums, and he was more than capable of completing that task. Elizabeth wouldn't understand that. If he had tried to convince her to let him do it by himself, she would have refused. Thrown words at him like "together" and "duty" and "love", and then she'd get him to cave. She was always better at words than him. He was always better at actions than her. That's why he did what he did.

But God, the look on her face as she passed through the event horizon was going to haunt him forever. Even though Moros assured him that the Stasis Pod would be a dreamless sleep, John knew he would dream, and then of only one thing. Her face. The shock and betrayal on it as she vanished into the event horizon wasn't what he wanted to dream about when it came to her, but he knew he deserved to be haunted by the image.

She wouldn't forgive him for this. She wouldn't understand. The letter he had slipped inside her hands would do little to convince her of the rightness in his actions. He could just picture her staring at his written words with accusations in her eyes, calling him stubborn and foolish and damning him.

He hated it more than she did. But some sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. And if they were going to be made, _he_ was the man for the job. Sumner hadn't believed it. But Elizabeth had. She believed in him. He wondered if she saw the irony of her confidence now and what it led to.

She wouldn't forgive him for this.

But at least she'd be given a second chance; one that would allow her to settle down back on Earth. She deserved that - a real opportunity at happiness, unlike the one he had half-offered her here, clouded over and struggling under the weight of ghosts that would never stop haunting them. He deserved the same, but just not in this lifetime. As he walked down the silent corridors, he tried to convince himself that she'd move on. That he had done the right thing. That this was what he truly needed.

He glanced around, scrubbing his face with hands that would soon turn wrinkled and unrecognizable. Atlantis was nothing but shadows and silence now, abandoned to the point where the familiar name of the Lost City meant something again. Lost. They both were that now.

His hands slid against the smooth walls for support, and all he wanted was to shut down his brain and stop thinking. He couldn't, though. In his head, he ended up counting the minutes it would take him to reach the Stasis Pods and set up the timer. To slip inside the hatch and _sleep like the dead._ He'd have to reopen it twice to rotate the ZPMs, but each round would take a mere ten minutes, give or take a few when he factored in the aging process that would inevitably slow him down. Then, the third time, the third and final time he awoke from the Stasis Pods, he'd be back in his original time, 2004, as an old man. Hell… an ancient himself.

It was all so fucking morbid.

Sixty minutes, he realized, the simple math as easy as breathing to him. It could be as short as sixty minutes of consciousness between the _here_ and _now_ to _then_ and _there._ If only the sleep was as oblivious as Moros promised, he'd be a mere hour away from waking up to the people he was willing to die for. That wasn't so bad. Not so bad at all.

He'd probably see her again, he realized numbly. An alternative version of her, of course; one that wouldn't see him as a lover or know the things they had shared. She'd be as innocent and carefree as the moment she'd first stepped across the galaxies. And he'd see his own double beside her, with Colonel Sumner, McKay and Ford. Zelenka and Beckett, too. They'd all be there. He'd get another chance to see her – and as pathetic as it was, a mere shadow of what he really wanted – at least it gave him a goal.

When he finally realized that he needed to focus, John became aware that he was in the wrong section of Atlantis entirely. He stopped, too disoriented by the lack of light or life in the usually bustling City, and turned around, backtracking to where the Stasis Pods were housed.

Outside the room, he paused and stared at the sealed door. He looked blankly at the colorless walls and willed his body to move, but the threshold seemed to need a Herculean amount of effort to pass beyond and his body wasn't up to the challenge. Just when he had finally built up enough resolve to swipe his hand over the control switch, the unexpected and impossible blaring of claxons connecting on the Stargate rang throughout the corridors.

John froze. _It couldn't be. It wasn't possible._

He moved slowly at first, taking hesitating steps down the corridor as he listened to the blaring sounds. Even as the cynical bastard in him told him to be cautious, unadultered hope slowly rose up within him. His legs found strength that he had thought lost, and incrementally, John sped up until he was rushing down the corridors towards the Gateroom. The scenery passed by in a blur, but it seemed like ages before he arrived at his destination with a heart pounding away from things other than exertion. When he skidded to a halt near the grand staircase, he stared with wide disbelieving eyes.

Elizabeth stood in the center of the wide open space; the wormhole behind her still connected back to Earth. As her gaze connected with his, her expression was carefully controlled. John knew his wasn't. Dumbfounded, he could do nothing but openly stare at her with a paralyzed feeling of shock seizing his body. For a moment, neither of them moved. Hell, John barely even breathed.

Elizabeth drew a small Alterian device up to her lips, and spoke softly. "I'm through, Moros. You can shut down the Stargate."

_"Understood, Dr. Weir. Farewell, and good luck."_

"You, too," she replied, but her attention was clearly already on other things.

The Stargate shut down with a flash behind her, and the entire room was plunged into darkness again.

She immediately started towards him, and as much as he wanted to close the distance between them and never let her go, John found it impossible to think for a moment, much less command his legs to move. He watched her stride towards him, and he struggled open-mouthed for words. "Jesus Christ, Elizabeth," he muttered in disbelief. "How did you–"

He never saw the right hook coming.

Before he even realized what had hit him, John was cradling a throbbing jaw with his hand and staring up at an enraged Elizabeth, her face livid with anger and pain and betrayal; all of it aimed at him. But John couldn't bring himself to muster up anymore shock. He was still too overwhelmed by the fact that Elizabeth was here, now, with him.

"You son of a bitch," she seethed, almost choking on the words. "How could you do that to me?"

John opened his mouth. "I did it for you–"

"Don't." She raised a warning hand. When it immediately dropped back to her side, her hand curled into a fist again and John wondered for a second if she was going to throw another punch. Thankfully, she didn't. "Don't even try that with me, John. After everything we've been through. Everything we've done for one another, you actually had that gall to _shove_ me through the Stargate?"

She glared, and the look made it difficult for John to breathe. He wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them. Make sure she was solid and whole and not some figment of his imagination. The throbbing pain in his jaw already proved otherwise, but that wasn't the type of physical proof he was thinking about. It took all his effort to remain standing where he was, separated from her by mere feet. The only thing that kept him at bay was the furious look in her eyes.

She looked devastated and furious. "How could you do that to me?"

He opened his mouth, unable to form words, but then the certainty he felt that his actions had been for the best made him stand straighter; face her anger. "You were supposed to stay there, Elizabeth. On Earth. How did you get back?"

Her face crumpled for a second, in something akin to shock and betrayal. "How did I get back? _That's_ what you're concerned with right now?" She looked away, needing a moment to collect herself before she turned back to John, obviously hurt. "I convinced the Council, _yet again,_ to waste resources, mainly the ZPM energy on Earth to send me back." Her glare hardened. "Disappointed I returned?"

John stepped forward in protest, but she immediately retreated, keeping the distance between them. He released a harsh breath, forcing himself to meet her eyes. "You know that's not true, Elizabeth, but you shouldn't have returned. I did what was right for the both of us."

"You don't get to make the decisions for the both of us, John!"

On that, John disagreed. It was his job to protect her. He didn't think that answer would go over too well with her at the moment, though. He licked his lips, and struggled for something that could convince her that he had done everything for her best interest.

She continued when he couldn't come up with a response quick enough. "We're supposed to make our decisions together, John. Everything _together,_ remember?"

"I remember," he responded in a firm voice, backbone straight. "But I couldn't let you go through with this. There's only one person necessary to rotate the ZPMs."

"And what?" she demanded, tone incredulous. "It never crossed your mind that I could be that person? Why did it have to be you? Chivalry only goes so far–"

"Goddamn it, it's not about chivalry!" John suddenly exploded. "I love you, remember? I'm doing this because of _that!_"

She opened her mouth to continue, but it looked like she didn't know how to respond. After a second, frustrated, she turned on her heels and just started walking away. John didn't like that plan. As soon as she took two steps away, John found himself chasing after her. His emotions had been buoyed from utter despair to elation to frustration like a yo-yo in the scant matter of seconds, and the one thing he couldn't handle right then was Elizabeth walking away from him. He grabbed her by the arm, but she immediately yanked out of his grip with desperate anger.

He pulled his hands free, raising them in surrender. "Okay. Okay," he said, complacently. "Just don't walk away from me, Elizabeth. Not now."

Elizabeth glared. "You just shoved me through the Stargate to another galaxy, John. I wasn't the one walking away."

He swallowed hard. "I never wanted you gone. Not for a second."

"You just wanted me safe, is that it?"

"Yes," he said emphatically, stepping forward. She stepped back, and John felt like they were rehearsing the steps to a dance he didn't know the first move to. But acknowledging that Elizabeth needed her space, he didn't press forward. He licked his lips and tried to think. "What do you want me to say, Elizabeth? I'm sorry? I am."

"But you'd do it again in a heartbeat, wouldn't you?"

John paused, which was apparently the wrong answer. Elizabeth spun away in frustration, looking like she might scream or cry. He wasn't sure which. Her tense shoulders hitched, and when she finally glanced back at him, frustrated tears glistened brightly in her eyes. "You had no right to do that to me, John."

"Elizabeth," he breathed. "I didn't... I never wanted... Oh, _screw_ this."

Even knowing she'd pull back against his advances, he caught her by the arm again and dragged her to him. His mouth covered hers in a hungry kiss that tasted of pure desperation before she had a chance to protest. For a split second, it felt like she was going to immediately melt into his embrace, but then she stiffened and shoved hard against his chest.

John stumbled backwards, and he found himself on the receiving end of a death-glare. "We don't just get to kiss and make-up, John!"

He cocked an eyebrow, already drunk on the taste of her. "I had a little more in mind than just a kiss."

Her glare intensified. "You are _unbelievable_, you know that? You don't get to do that. You don't just get to be so... _you._"

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration quickly rising. "This isn't about me, Elizabeth."

"Yes, it is. You can't save everyone, John."

John's mood darkened instantly. "Yeah, believe it or not, I managed to get that memo."

The same nightmares that haunted him haunted her, so he shouldn't have been surprised when she immediately caught onto his meaning. She sighed, aggravated. "I'm not talking about the expe--"

"--And I wasn't trying to save everyone," John cut in, before she could finish. "Just you. You were the only person I managed to get out of this nightmare, and _Goddamn it_, you came back."

Elizabeth paused, and when she next spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "Of course I came back."

He turned away, a sharp blend of relief and guilt choking him at the back of his throat. He shouldn't have been this grateful to have her back here – not when it meant she'd just signed herself up for the same suicide mission he had. Things should have been different. When he finally mustered the resolve to look back at her, he could tell her anger had melted into other things.

She strode forward, and when he managed to get a hold of her this time, he didn't drag her into a kiss. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her flush against his chest, just savoring the feeling of her.

"Goddamn you, John Sheppard," she whispered against his neck, hitched and breathless. "I should stay pissed as hell at you."

It was a testament to how much he loved this woman that those words felt like an endearment to him. As she completely collapsed against his chest, even knowing he had no right to it, he felt absurdly relieved and whole again. He could feel her hot breath and the cool tears on his skin, and he couldn't stop from remembering that for a short period of time, he'd thought he'd lost her. Maybe it made him a selfish bastard, but he was glad she was here with him now, just like this.

But then she pulled back slightly and looked up at him. "You do something like that again, and I'll never forgive you. Promise me you won't try it again – or anything like it."

He paused again.

"Promise me, John."

He sighed, and then mutely nodded. When she opened her mouth, most likely to demand words of promise instead of a mere gesture, he silenced her with a kiss that continued in the same vein as the one he began moments before. She didn't resist this time.

* * *

The timer was set.

As they stood in front of the Stasis Pods that were located in far northeast quadrant of the City, John fought to keep his hand steady as he closed the control panel hatch and stepped back to view the room. Elizabeth had already been to the far quadrant of Atlantis on the other side and taken care of disconnecting two of the three Zero Point Modules that lay in their triangular power grids. Now, she stood next to him with an equal amount of apprehension written on her face.

He tried for a casual smirk. "Kinda takes a whole new meaning to the term 'growing old together,' doesn't it?"

She glanced at him, and sighed. "Who goes in first?"

John paused then decisively nodded. "I always say ladies first."

She nodded back, and then started toward the Stasis Pods at hesitant pace; anxiousness rising off her in palpable waves. When she finally stepped inside the half-oval structure, she turned back to face him before the glass cover had to close in after her. She was bathed in a white florescent light that came from the inside of the interior of the Stasis Pods, and for a moment, John was struck with how beautiful she looked. He stepped forward to brush a light kiss across her lips, and then rested his forehead against hers.

"It'll be a blink of an eye," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "And then we'll be awake again."

"A blink of an eye," she repeated compliantly, eyes closed. "That's all."

He kissed her again, hard, and promised himself it wouldn't be the last time. When he pulled away, Elizabeth took a deep breath, and nodded to him. She was ready. He stepped back, eyes glued to hers, and then hit the switch that lowered the glass covering that enclosed her completely. Briefly, her hand pressed against the glass, fingers splayed wide, and John covered the sight with his own hand in a mirror image.

A moment later, he watched Elizabeth's eyes flutter closed, and then her hand slipped away and fell to her side. She went completely still.

He stepped back, eyesight turning conspicuously blurry, and swallowed hard. His heart rate was suddenly beating a mile a minute, and the only sound he could hear was the sound of his own harsh breathing. It took a moment for things to calm down, and when it did, his fingers were clenched tightly in a fist that threatened puncture marks from his fingernails. He released another forceful breath, and turned back to study Elizabeth again. She looked peaceful, content, but it did little to cleanse the feeling that he had just pushed the button that would eventually kill her.

He turned to his own Stasis Pod, one situated opposite of her. He cleared his throat, and then strode over to input the last of the commands into the control panel. The Pod immediately lit up just like Elizabeth's, and when John climbed inside and turned around, he hit one more button and the glass slowly enclosed the structure and trapped him inside. It was a moment of utter claustrophobic silence, and then John heard gas release from the ventilation system inside the pod. The last thing he saw was Elizabeth sleeping in her own chamber opposite of him, and then, suddenly…

John Sheppard felt nothing at all.

* * *

The first time he awoke, Elizabeth was already climbing out of her chamber onto clumsy feet. She staggered, resting back against the surface of the pod, breathing deeply in concentration. She called to him to wake up, and John blinked, feeling groggy and disoriented, and the first thought that actually went through his mind was, absurdly, _"five more minutes, 'Lizabeth." _

When he finally remembered, he blinked again and swallowed against the dry scratching feeling in the back of his throat. He pushed himself out of the Pod on wobbly legs, and found the air harshly cold against his skin. It took a moment before he recovered, and by that time, Elizabeth was already walking towards him. She had longer hair, he noted immediately, streaked with the barest hints of white, but as she came closer, the long hair that framed her face actually made her look younger for some reason. There were a few more wrinkles and a handful of years added to her face, but mostly, John thought she looked remarkably young for a woman a little over three thousand years old.

Moros had told him the aging process would advance exponentially after each awakening occurred. But the first one, John was assured, wouldn't be so bad. He glanced at the reflection of the glass nearby, and saw an older – but not overwhelmingly older – John Sheppard staring back at him. He breathed a sigh of relief, and looked to Elizabeth again.

When she finally made it to him, she smiled. A thousand watt smile that made all the years she had gained seemingly melt away. Her hands went immediately to his hair and she played with a few strands that John knew were salt and pepper colored. Hers wasn't the only hair that had grown over the years, either. She grinned. "I didn't know it was even possible, but your hair is actually more out of control."

He laughed, enjoying the moment. It may have felt like nothing but a few moments since he'd last seen her, but John knew the truth. Millenniums had passed. John pulled her into a bone crushing hug and breathed in the scent of her hair. Impossibly, it still smelt exactly like he remembered.

"You think morning breath applies to our current situation?"

She laughed, her body vibrating against his. "C'mon, business first."

She pulled free, and John obediently followed her to the ZPM outlet room.

* * *

The second time began more eventful.

The glass covering opened, and John nearly fell out of the Stasis Pod and crashed onto the floor. His body's reflexes weren't as quick as they once were, but he managed to grab blindly at the sides of the pod and catch himself before he broke something. He felt drugged, and there were unfamiliar aches and pains all over his body. He glanced at his hands, now aged and wrinkled, unrecognizably so, and noted that his vision wasn't all that hot either.

He looked up to find Elizabeth – a sixty-something year old Elizabeth – kneeling on the floor opposite of him. Her hair was even longer this time, completely white with only a few strands of color peaking through, but she was still Elizabeth. He'd recognize her if he was blind. She breathed deeply, still visibly recovering from her own disorientation, and John stared at her and smiled.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he greeted. "Long time, no see."

It took them twice as long to reach the ZPM room as before, and when they finally rotated the last power source into place, discarding yet another depleted one into the corner, John stared vacantly at the room and realized with a start something vastly important - _There. It was done._

As of that moment, if things went according to plan, the expedition was assured to meet something other than a watery grave the moment they stepped through the gate. It was what they had been fighting for this entire time, and with this monstrous mission _technically_ accomplished, he felt the moment should have been heralded with trumpets and fireworks.

Instead, there was a complete hush.

Still, standing there as silence reined, John couldn't argue the fact that a weight had undeniably been lifted. He could feel it in his bones. His old and weary bones. Things just felt different. Automatically better. It was hard to believe, but they had actually done it. They just saved the next expedition from sharing the same fate as the last. Finally, something good. Something to be proud of.

He nearly choked on the tangible relief that saturated the thought.

"I didn't think we'd actually succeed," Elizabeth confessed, in a small whisper. "A part of me kept expecting something to go wrong."

His lips curled into a smirk. "And I thought I was the cynical one."

She looked over at him, and ruefully smiled back. "Guess you're rubbing off on me, then."

He pulled her close, fighting the urge to say something slightly lewd in response, and felt something he thought he'd never know again. The last time after they had rotated the ZPMs, they had traveled back to their abandoned quarters and made frantic love once more. This time, John held her tight against his chest and felt like the end was already here. But instead of some claustrophobic pressure bearing down on him, he felt acceptance slide warmly into its place. Content, finally achieving some subtle form of peace he couldn't describe, they stared together at their accomplished goal and John wondered what would await them the next time they opened the Stasis Pod doors.

"My double will flip out when he realizes I've flown an alien spacecraft," he commented, lightly. "I have to remember to rub that in a little."

Elizabeth laughed. "You're assuming by that time, he hasn't already flown one himself."

John raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were going to be revived the first moment the City sensors picked up our expedition?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but… I just keep thinking."

"Thinking what?"

She sighed. "We're playing with time here, John. Ten thousand years is a long time, and who knows how we've changed the future. You've heard Moros give that speech more than once."

"So what are you saying?" John replied, incredulous. "That we may wake up to what? A totally different future than the one we expect?"

She glanced up at him with aged eyes. "You do realize there could be a million variations caused by our presence in the past? For God's sakes, John, the expedition might be totally different from what we expect."

"Whoa," John said, pulling back. "Why the hell would it be? We're in the history of the Pegasus Galaxy. What should that have to do with what happens on Earth?"

She raised an eyebrow, looking every bit of the Elizabeth Weir he had come to love, even if she was several thousand years older. "We effected the Ancients, John. They effected everything else. There's no way of knowing the repercussions of what we've done."

For a moment, John opened and closed his mouth. "I don't like the sound of that."

She shrugged, sighing deeply. "Sorry," she said, sounding like she meant it. "It's just I've read way too many SG-1 reports about time-travel and alternate universes to feel certain of anything. I don't know what to expect when we wake up. I hope we find ourselves and our expedition safe, but… I don't want to feel the crushing blow if it turns out different. I won't be able to survive that."

He silenced the dark voice in his head that mentioned the fact that the next time they both woke up from the stasis, they wouldn't survive for long no matter what. He felt aged and weary already. He couldn't imagine what another 3.3 thousand years would do to their bodies.

"C'mon," she said, tugging at his hold over her, leading him out of the power grid. "It's time to go home."

_Yeah,_ John thought. _Home._


	12. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

* * *

Lt. Colonel John Sheppard had seen a lot in his three years serving in Atlantis, but this? This one was nagging his spider-sense almost from the get-go. He stared up at the two Stasis Pods before him, and turned back to Rodney. "How the hell didn't we find this before?"

Rodney threw an irritated glance in his direction as he tapped away at the Ancient PDA. "Well, we have been a little busy these last few years, you know. With the Wraith and the Ori and the constant and oh-so-fun peril that besieges Atlantis on a weekly basis since the moment we stepped foot on it. Excuse me if we didn't explore this abandoned corridor of what looked like a completely useless sector of the City until now!"

"Excuses, excuses," John muttered, and then turned back to Ford. "Captain, get Teyla and Ronon back here. I doubt they'll find anything more interesting than this."

Ford bounced on his heels, nodding. "Sure thing, Sir."

Ford scuttled away and John turned back to Rodney as he scanned the life-signs of the two Ancients. Rodney was too engrossed with his readouts of the pods to answer any of the questions John began to ask, so eventually, he found his attention wandering back to the two elderly individuals inside the pods: one male and the other female.

A little bit of an indefinable unease crawled up his spine, and John suppressed a shudder. He couldn't pinpoint why, precisely, but those two were making him uncomfortable just by looking at them. Maybe it was residue from the whole Phoebus/Thalan fiasco, or maybe he was flashing back to the derelict Aurora and the strange virtual experiences he, Rodney, and Ford had there with the aging crew. Whatever the case, the hairs on the back of John's neck prickled with unease.

"They still alive?" John asked, barely moving his eyes away from the pods to glance at Rodney.

Rodney nodded. "Yes, life-signs indicate viability, although barely. It's remarkable. They must be over ten thousand years old."

John raised an eyebrow. "They don't look a day over nine thousand." He commented, and then eyed the old guy with harsher scrutiny. "Well, the woman anyway. The guy's kinda wiggin' me out."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh please, Colonel. Do explain to me the scientific value of your 'wiggins' and why we should take them into account here? We're dealing with two viable Ancients here and they're –" he stopped, eyes bugging out slightly. "Oh, we better get Fraiser down here immediately so she can check up on them. I don't want to piss her off this week."

John's lips threatened to curl into a smirk. "You're just upset that Janet pulled out the big needles for your last post-mission checkup. Next time, don't mouth off about her profession being voodoo."

Rodney grumbled under his breath. "Yes, well, I was drugged up at the time. Honestly, a woman of her profession should be more forgiving of a man in that condition."

"Well, at least you didn't pinch her in the ass while you were drugged – oh wait, you did do that, didn't you?"

Rodney dropped his gaze back to his scanner as his face changed several shades of red. "Why don't you get Elizabeth on the radio? She should know about this, don't you think?"

John smirked before tapping his ear-piece. As he hailed her over the radio, he fixed his stare on the two pods in front of him. The creepiness factor was still high. "Elizabeth?" he said when he finally got through to her. "I think I've got something you might want to see."

* * *

John watched as Elizabeth stared up at the two Ancient Pods with a mixture of eagerness and apprehension written across her face. Eagerness, because yeah, those were most likely Ancients inside. But apprehensive because John knew she still couldn't look anybody in the eye when they brought up the Phoebus incident – not that John was ever one to bring up that topic himself – so she was understandably cautious as well. He wondered if she was getting the same sense of déjà vu that he was.

Elizabeth turned back to catch his eye for a moment, before she shifted her attention to Janet. "What's their prognosis, Doctor?"

The petite, brunette doctor didn't look happy. "Not good. I'm surprised they're still alive. From what I understand of these designs, these pods weren't meant to sustain life for ten thousand years. I'm concerned that any attempt to revive them will actually turn out to kill them instead."

Rodney heaved an annoyed sigh. "We can't let this opportunity slip through our fingers. They could offer us invaluable information!"

From the corner of the room, sandwiched between Ford and Teyla, Ronon lounged against the wall and raised an eyebrow. "You mean like Phoebus and Thalan?"

Elizabeth, predictably, found an interesting spot to stare at; one that didn't involve making eye contact with any other individual in the room. "Yes, thank you, Ronon. Point made."

Ronon shrugged. "I'm just sayin'."

John cocked his head to the side, agreeing with Ronon. "I don't think we should get too excited until we know what we're dealing with here."

"We're dealing with two Ancients here," Rodney countered, irritated. "And I don't think we're jumping to conclusions on that fact. These pods are distinctly Ancient in design, and let's not overlook the glaringly obvious: _they're in Atlantis._ They're Ancients, Colonel."

John glared at him. "Yeah, well, color me suspicious anyway."

Rodney rolled his eyes and went back to run another scan near the pods.

Teyla stepped forward. "Should we not be concerned about another transfer of consciousness, like Phoebus' pod allowed?" She turned to Rodney. "Perhaps you should not step so closely to it, Rodney."

Rodney restrained his irritation, but just barely. "You meet one pair of psychopathic geriatrics, and suddenly anyone over a thousand looks suspicious. Look, I've already run scans on it. There's nothing to indicate anything like that. We're just dealing with regular life-pods, like the ones we encountered on the Aurora before it blew up."

Ford stepped forward, face lighting up with a thought. "Hey, are they hooked up to a freaky virtual reality, too?"

Rodney sighed. "Fine." He snapped. "I stand corrected. They're nothing like the Aurora pods. There's no virtual reality. No transfer of consciousness. No weird, funky side-effects to these pods besides growing really, really old at an absurdly slow pace. They're just sleeping, people!"

"Why?" Elizabeth asked in a distant voice, as if she wasn't even remotely concerned with Rodney's latest outburst. She stared intently at the pods, thoroughly absorbed and fascinated by them. "Why are they here? Why didn't they leave with the other Ancients all those years ago?"

"Well, that's obviously only something we'll learn if we revive them."

Janet stepped forward in protest. "You revive them, and you might kill them. As it is, even if they survive the revival process, they won't have more than a day before their bodies shut down from massive and wide-spread organ failure."

John cocked an eyebrow. "How's that any worse than sleeping to death, doc?" He turned back to the pods, eyes drawn to the male figure entirely on their own. Despite himself and his previous experience with Thalan, he felt a bit of sympathy for these two. This was no way to survive. "I gotta figure we should at least give them a fighting chance to live."

Elizabeth paused, expression tight, and then gave the go-ahead. "Do it."

"Doctor Weir–" Janet protested.

"It's my decision, Janet," Elizabeth cut in. "Revive them."

She turned on her heels and walked out the door, leaving the room – Janet, in particular – with little to do but follow her orders. Rodney bounced on his heels in excitement, and went over to order Ford and Ronon to begin moving the Pods towards his laboratory. As Janet stepped forward to override that order with some of her own: "To the infirmary, Doctor McKay. Or nowhere else." John left the group to catch up with Elizabeth.

He caught up with her just before she made it to the transporter, and slipped inside beside her as she hit the Control Room as her destination. Beside him, Elizabeth was all tense shoulders and wringing-hands. There was a sense of nervousness about her that John could easily recognize. He'd come to recognize a hellava lot about her in the three years they'd known each other. He could think of only a few people – almost a non-existent number – that he'd learned the personal quarks and habits of better.

Quickly taking in her appearance, he threw her a causal glance. "You alright?"

She licked her lips, and nodded. "Yeah, it's just… I don't know what it was. Staring up at those two, I got a sense of…"

"Déjà vu?" John offered. He couldn't think of any better term to name what he also felt.

"Yeah," Elizabeth answered, weakly. "I suppose."

The transporter doors opened and the sight of an energetic Gateroom greeted them. Immediately, Elizabeth was drawn aside by two technicians that needed her on whatever latest thing demanded her undivided attention _or else._ John waved casually at her as she was pulled away by her duties.

He shuffled into the Gateroom, and then decided to head back to his quarters instead to catch a quick nap and a shower. He knew Rodney and Janet weren't going to be able to revive the Ancients for a couple of hours, and once that happened, rest and routine would likely take a back seat to finding out everything they could from their two guests.

Remembering the pale and wrinkled faces of the Ancients inside their pods, John had no doubt it was going to be an interesting day.

* * *

Ford knocked on his door just as John was pulling on his jacket to get ready to head back out. He answered it quickly, and found his teammate holding up two sandwiches: one Turkey on rye.

John grinned. "Good man, Ford."

He smiled back. "That's why I'm your second in command. The Docs are calling you, Sir. They've managed to get the man up and awake, if only for a moment."

John raised an eyebrow. "Already? That was quick."

Ford shrugged. "Apparently the guy's in better shape. They're still trying to work on the woman."

"Oh," John replied, stepping into line beside Ford as they walked.

He grabbed his sandwich and took a chunk out as they made their way to the infirmary. Beside him, Ford had that look on his face; the one that said he wanted to say something but wasn't sure if it was appropriate. Even after three years serving together, John still couldn't get Ford to relax when it came to chain of command. To be honest, though, John wasn't too annoyed with the Captain about it. Ford was the only person on his five man team that he had any real control over. Teyla and Ronon were both aliens well outside the military command structure, and Rodney was… well, Rodney. Some days, it seemed like Ford's unwavering presence and loyalty was the only thing John could rely on without a headache.

Still, it sometimes seemed exasperating to constantly give permission for things that should have been as natural as breathing. "A penny for your thoughts, Captain?" John asked, slanting him a glance.

Ford grinned. "Actually yeah. I was just thinking about the Aurora."

John nodded; the Aurora wasn't an experience he was ever likely to forget. Being trapped inside a virtual reality with aging Ancients was bad enough, but couple that with A) Captain Loren somehow freakishly knowing John's name and implicitly hinting at the fact that they had somehow already met – impossible, obviously – and yet refusing to fully divulge how. Or B) a Wraith spy disguised as one of the random crew members that eventually led to the destruction of the entire vessel.

John was still pissed about that; equal parts because the Aurora crew had seemed like decent people – Captain Loren especially, his uncanny recognition of John notwithstanding – and because of the vital communiqué information that was destroyed in the process. He had no clue what was inside that communiqué, but whatever it was, even if it was as essential as Captain Loren had claimed, it was now going to remain forever a mystery. That annoyed John to no end.

John raised an eyebrow. "What about the Aurora?"

"You remember what Captain Loren said?" Ford asked. "Just before we got out?"

"You mean 'Say hello to Dr. Weir for me'? Yeah, I'm not about to forget those spooky words anytime soon."

"No, not that," Ford responded. "Although that was a little _Twilight Zone_ there, but I was talking about what he said before."

John licked his lips, and then remembered. "You mean that whole thing about the repercussions of time-traveling? 'Your presence here proves that the future has already changed,' yada, yada, yada."

"Yeah, it took him all of five seconds to accept that we were ten thousand years ahead of his time," Ford said, confusion in his tone. "No explanation necessary. No resistance to the idea at all. He just accepted everything you claimed. I still find that odd."

"There was little about Loren I didn't find odd, Ford," John countered, "What's your point?"

"He also called you _Major_ Sheppard when he said that."

John nodded, getting exasperated. "Yeah, again, weird. Permission granted to get to the punch line any day now, Captain."

Ford looked utterly confused and slightly weirded-out. "The old Ancient guy in the infirmary now, when he briefly woke up? He glanced around the place, saw me, and then called me _Lieutenant_ Ford."

John stopped walking. His gaze slid to Ford, surprised. "Really?"

Ford shrugged. "Yeah. I swear there's something really creepy about these Ancient people. They're all, like, psychic or something. How did he know my name?"

"Did you ask him that?"

"He fell back asleep before I could."

Vaguely disturbed – again – John started walking, speeding up just a little to reach the infirmary quicker. When they finally arrived, the entire place was hushed with an unusual silence. Rodney and Janet were talking in the corner and the rest of his team along with Elizabeth were gathered around the two Ancients lying prone on the infirmary beds.

As they approached, John curiously noted that Elizabeth seemed to be standing a little aloof from everyone else. He cast her a curious glance before the equally tense faces of everybody in the room managed to catch his attention.

Something was definitely up.

He stopped at the foot of the bed where the female lay, still asleep, and raised an eyebrow. "Okay, what did I miss?"

Everybody paused, nervously shuffling their feet, and anxious glances were exchanged all around. Teyla started to say something, then glanced at Elizabeth and paused. She recovered with a tight smile. "The woman woke up, Colonel," Teyla said, in a tone that never boded good news in John's experience. She picked her words carefully. "She… _claimed things._"

"Claimed things," John repeated in a drawl. "Like what?"

Elizabeth glanced up at him, expression carefully controlled. "She claimed…" She opened her mouth and closed it again, and her control slipped. She adopted a look of utter confusion, and spoke in a faint voice. "She claimed that she is me, and he –" she pointed towards the aging male "–is you."

For a moment, John was convinced he heard wrong. "What?"

"Time travel," Ronon supplied, looking entirely annoyed. He slanted an incredulous look towards John. "She said she's a version of Weir who traveled to the past. To the time of the Ancestors. That other guy is you, supposedly."

Equally incredulous, John could only repeat one thing. "What?"

"If anyone should be deaf of hearing here, Sheppard," a raspy voice rang out, "It should be me." John turned his head towards the owner of the voice, and found the elderly man watching him with pale hazel eyes that looked glossed over with the worst case of cataracts John had ever seen. Still, they were sharp with humor. "You know," he said, aged lips growing into an eerily familiar smirk as he gave John a once over, "I always thought I was taller."

* * *

Hours later, Janet walked over to them with a computer tablet in hand. "The results of the DNA tests are in. They're both a match."

"Huh," John commented, feeling that was a pretty much an accurate description of his thought processes for the moment.

Unsurprisingly, Elizabeth was a bit more articulate, although not by much. "How is this possible? How did they get here?"

Rodney spoke up, looking quite eager to explain. "Actually, I've been thinking." He turned towards John. "The Aurora."

John had been thinking about that all day, but in that instant, the last of the puzzle pieces suddenly snapped into place and he groaned, closing his eyes. It all made a type of sense that was entirely screwed up and unrecognizable as normal. In a nutshell, it was perfectly congruent with the rest of his life since coming to the Pegasus Galaxy.

John sighed. "All that's missing is a really nice DeLorean."

Rodney heaved an annoyed breath. "Don't even get me started on that movie."

"I liked that movie."

"I bet you—"

"Gentlemen." A female voice cut in, except it was aged and weary and belonged to another Elizabeth altogether. John turned to find the old version of Elizabeth stirring in her bed, tired eyes latching onto her younger double first, then John. She smiled, skin wrinkling around her eyes. "You haven't changed at all," she commented, then glanced from John to the older man – his own double, apparently – who slumbered heavily once again. He caught a hint of sadness in the older Elizabeth's expression, but then she glanced up at John again with a smile. "Yes, exactly as I remember."

Next to him, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in amusement. "The hair will never be tamed," she dead-panned.

A sharp rasp of a laugh escaped the elderly woman, so John let the dig slide. She turned back to Elizabeth, and raised an eyebrow back. "I see you've grown out your own hair. I like it."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Yes, and I considered growing a Mohawk briefly in high school. As fascinating as this critique on hairstyles is, maybe we could use this precious time for more important questions, hmm?"

The older-Elizabeth laughed. "You haven't changed a bit either, Rodney. It's so good to see you. To see you all. You have no idea what I – we – have been through to see this day."

John stepped forward, glancing back briefly at his slumbering double. "Yeah, I bet that's some story."

"You have no idea, Major."

He tried not to puff out his chest. "It's actually Lt. Colonel, now."

Elizabeth – his Elizabeth – chided him in an exasperated voice. "Now's not the time, John." She stepped closer to her double, and gently grabbed hold of one her hands. The sight was entirely unusual for John, but Elizabeth seemed to be handling the news of her double better than John was. "I have so much to ask you, I don't even know where to begin."

"There's so much to tell you… The letters. We had letters."

Elizabeth glanced around, confused. A moment latter, John vaguely remembered some loose leafs of paper tucked away in the corners of the Stasis Pods. Those had been quickly forgotten when other more important things had captured his attention, but now he nodded his head eagerly and called out to one of the orderlies nearby to retrieve it.

He turned back to the older Elizabeth. "We'll get them," he assured her.

She nodded her head, eyes already closing as sleep threatened to overtake her again. "Everything you need to know is in there. Read them, but _privately._"

John traded a curious look with Elizabeth, and then turned to find both older doubles once again in harmonic sleep.

* * *

A short time later, when the rest of his team had left the infirmary and it was just him and Elizabeth, John's double woke up again. It turned out to be more disconcerting than John thought it was going to be; mainly because of the way his considerably older double acted around Elizabeth.

"You really do look hot with that hair, Lizzie."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, and John nearly choked on the cup of water he'd been drinking from. A slight blush crawled up her neck, and she smiled embarrassed. "Uh, thank you, Major."

She glanced at John briefly, but he took the opportunity to glare at his older double. The geezer was old enough to be her great, great, great, great, great times infinity Grandfather. That was just another creepy comment to add to the list for today, even if John conceded to the fact that Elizabeth did look hot with long hair.

She quickly cleared her throat, and got back to business again. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm fighting off ten thousand years worth of jet-lag," his double rasped lightly, groaning. He shifted in his bed, and cast another thinly veiled look of concern towards the sleeping older Elizabeth. He'd been doing that a lot. The two had been alternately waking up, only for a few minutes at a time, and had yet to catch each other in their brief moments of consciousness. "How is she doing?"

Elizabeth smiled, although John could pick up the tightness in her expression. "She's just resting."

Apparently, the older John picked up on her tells as well. "Liar." He licked his lips, and scrutinized his aging hands with a glare. "Our bodies are way too old. How much time does Beckett say we have?"

John's brow furrowed with confusion for a moment. "Who?"

His double shot him a pointed look. "Carson Beckett." When all he received was blank looks, his double continued in a persistent tone. "You know, our Scottish doctor? Has the Ancient gene. Likes to say stuff like "wee little things" and stick needles in sensitive places. You know, that guy?"

John traded a look with Elizabeth, before answering, "Our doc is a lady named Janet Fraiser. Always has been."

It was his double's turn to look confused. "That's impossible. Carson was on the original expedition. He's the reason I found out about the Ancient outpost in the first place."

Elizabeth stepped closer, intrigued. "He was responsible for telling you about Atlantis?"

"No, he was responsible for nearly killing me in Antarctica. He's not here?"

John wasn't sure if he was following the logic of that statement fully, but he simply shrugged. "Don't know what to tell you, buddy. Never met a Carson Beckett. I've never even been to Antarctica."

His double looked dumbfounded. "That's impossible."

John raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "You time-traveled ten thousand years into the past, and then slumbered all the way back to now, to met us, your doubles… and _that's_ impossible?"

He licked his lips, and turned to look away. "Son of a bitch, Moros was right. We did change the future."

"Who?" Elizabeth asked, but the older John was too lost in thought to answer her.

There was a vague haunted look that passed over his wrinkled features, and John was suddenly seeing a whole new side to him. Instead of the flippant version he'd seen so far, this older man now looked vaguely horrified by some dark knowledge that he alone understood. John still recognized the look easily, though. It was the same one he woke up to every time he had a nightmare about the Wraith (or whatever latest disaster had recently befallen them) that had nearly killed him or anyone he cared about.

He had a feeling that his double was dealing with more than just nightmares, though.

Cautiously, Elizabeth stepped closer to his bed and reached to grab hold of one of his aged hands. She squeezed it in reassurance and threaded her fingers between his double's. John was silently struck by the intimacy of the gesture, and how in some nonsensical way, she was technically holding _his_ hand like that. She managed to tug the older John out his funk with a small smile.

"Maybe I should tell you about my story," The older John said, looking like he wasn't about to let go of Elizabeth's hand anytime soon. "Where should I start?"

John stepped forward. "The beginning's always good."

His double smirked, but it was completely humorless. "The beginning is where it all ended, Colonel. Right here, when that damn shield caved to an ocean full of water." He licked his dry lips, and a darkness settled into his eyes. "The first time this all happened, Atlantis drowned. So did every member of this expedition. Elizabeth and I - we were all that survived."

* * *

Halfway through his story, just when his double was getting to the good parts about his past experiences with the Aurora and the delegation – which answered oh-so-many lingering questions in John's head regarding Loren's strange behavior, he didn't even know where to begin – the older Elizabeth woke up.

The instant her aged eyes connected with his double's, John saw a transformation in both of them that he couldn't begin to describe. A thousand different emotions hovered on the surface, and while the infirmary was full of life and John and Elizabeth were standing _right there_, he suddenly got the feeling that their doubles weren't noticing much but each other.

He felt like they were intruding on a private moment – an extremely private moment – and a sense of awkwardness quickly settled heavily on his shoulders. Elizabeth looked equally uncomfortable witnessing the strange looks passing between their older doubles, and she quietly made excuses for both of them to retreat so as to allow the other two some privacy.

They barely got any acknowledgment in return, and as they retreated to the far corner of the infirmary, John looked back at the couple with a gnawing suspicion suddenly growing in his stomach.

_They couldn't be… could they? _

At the opposite side of the infirmary, aged hands intertwined across the empty space that divided their two beds apart. The gesture was extremely tender, and coupled with the hushed voices and the significant looks… suddenly, there was very little doubt left in John's mind at the type of relationship his double had with Elizabeth's double.

Shock swallowed his tongue whole, and he was left standing speechless next to Elizabeth as silent realization sunk in simultaneously for the both of them. Neither turned to look the other in the eye, but John knew the same thought was going through her head as well.

They were lovers.

_Holy shit._

* * *

John fled to read the letter the next time they fell asleep, slipping into one of the random empty rooms along the nearest corridor to catch some much needed privacy. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find inside, but John found himself obsessively curious about any information that he could get his hands on. Janet had been clear on the prognosis of the two patients, though. They had a couple of hours, a day tops, before their bodies would shut down completely. As it was, they were sleeping away the majority of their last hours.

He sighed, trying not to focus on the morbid thought that in the room next door, a version of himself was slowly dying. It sent a chill up his spine, and he was almost thankful that he'd be able to get some information without having to sit through the game of watching himself breath the last moments of his life. He glanced down at the letter in his hand, and paused.

The name on the envelope was addressed to a Major John Sheppard, and it was the little things like that which helped solidify that fact that he and this other version had gone through two different lives and, of course, there was going to be surprising differences to be had. Still, when he tore open the top of the Ancient – in every definition of the term – envelope, he stared at the sloppy handwriting that was painfully familiar and realized that whatever differences there were, there were still going to be similarities.

It started out as a simple narrative of what had happened to them after they'd been thrown back in time, with again, eerily familiar humor peaking through every now and then. Mostly, though, there wasn't much to laugh about. The letter must have been written during a time when his older double hadn't been in a particularly good mood, because John recognized his own idiosyncrasies throughout the letter. It was tinged with latent and frustrated anger. He may have acted easy-going and flippant all the time, but really, John just liked to give people that impression. He wasn't surprised that his double did that same thing.

He hunkered down in a plastic chair, and read about a life that wasn't his own.

* * *

Afterwards, John felt like somebody had sucker-punched him in the stomach. The letter had been brief, but telling. His double hadn't even mentioned the type of relationship he had with his Elizabeth, but John managed to pick up on what hadn't been said all too well.

Later, when he reentered the infirmary, he spotted Elizabeth quietly standing watch over the two slumbering figures. He didn't have the slightest clue how to act around her right then. He noticed, vaguely disoriented by the sight, that somebody had drawn the two infirmary beds directly side by side, as if to offer them some measure of closer proximity. That was just… weird. He had no other word for it, yet.

John walked up to Elizabeth, clearing his throat. "Hey."

She slightly jumped, startled, and then glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes when she recovered. "Hey." She greeted, never making full eye contact. "You just read your letter?"

He nodded. "Yeah. You?"

Elizabeth nodded, emphatically. "Yeah."

And then awkward silence settled in, thick and choking.

He shifted in his stance, trying to think of something to say, to do, but everything just seemed so pathetically… _pathetic_ that he stifled the action before he could do it. He ended up glancing around the infirmary with interest, as if he'd never seen it before and was cataloguing the oh-so-fascinating layout; anything in order to avoid looking at Elizabeth or their sleeping doubles. It was just suddenly too much.

_Way too much._

He had never been so glad to have Rodney barge in and begin a long-winded scientific tirade in his entire life. John wasn't even paying attention to the words – something about the quantum theory of time-travel and some of the divergences between their parallel realities that occurred as a result – but his mind was stalled on only one thought. Thankfully, Rodney seemed too infatuated with sprouting out ideas that he didn't notice the proximity in which their two doubles lay. It wasn't like their doubles were even touching or anything, but John's chest seemed to constrict and they may as well have been _spooning_ for the way it was making him feel.

And he still couldn't look Elizabeth in the eye.

When Rodney finally drew his explanation to a close, silence reined for several seconds before John pulled his head out of his ass and noticed.

Similarly, Elizabeth looked up at Rodney and blinked. "Right," she said, recovering. "That sounds… fascinating."

Rodney grinned with enthusiasm. "We should ask them if they learned anything about Ancient technology," he said, snapping his fingers in quick succession. "That and their history, sciences and any other details that they can answer to. The opportunity they represent is astounding. They just have to wake up some time soon!"

John grabbed Rodney's forearm before he could turn around. "Give 'em a moment, McKay. They're tired."

"Yes, well," Rodney snapped. "They've been sleeping for ten thousand years. Not to seem rude, but they don't need any more beauty sleep. We need to ask them questions now."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow; this one in warning. "Give them time, Rodney."

He blew out a forceful breath, and shifted from one foot to another like a kid with an extreme case of ADD. "Fine. Okay." He turned back to look at the older couple before John could stop him, and it really said something about the intimate portrait they painted that even _Rodney_ paused in surprise. "Oh," Rodney said as a comment, slightly dumbfounded. "Why are they so close?"

John closed his eyes, and silently groaned. _If he said one more thing…_

Anybody who ever claimed Rodney was unobservant to all things related to the human condition was, in John's expert opinion, absolutely right. Which just pissed him off all the more that Rodney picked this moment to suddenly get a freakin' clue. Rodney turned back to them, lips twitching upwards with humor. "Is this… what I think it is?"

John pointedly glared at him. "Rodney–"

Rodney rocked on his heels again, amused. "Well, that's… hmm, unexpected, I suppose. Although not really, now that I think about it. You two always did–"

"Rodney!" Both of them snapped simultaneously. Even though they yelled it at the same time, John had the distinct impression that it was Elizabeth's sharp voice that caused Rodney to turn abashed and mutter a nearly incoherent apology. John glanced briefly at Elizabeth, then slid his eyes back to Rodney and turned them dark with a silent warning. Rodney's lips sealed into a thin firm line, and even if he did have the gall to smirk, he didn't say anything further. After all, the one thing more finely honed than Rodney's brain had always been his survival instinct.

Elizabeth cleared her throat, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "If you'll excuse me, I'm just going to speak with Dr. Fraiser and get an update on our guests."

She turned on her heels and walked away with tense shoulders. John and Rodney watched her go, and then Rodney broke his silence with smug laughter in his voice.

"Oh, you are so screwed."

* * *

John tried to keep his jittery nerves from being painfully obvious by shoving his hands into his pockets and strolling through the place like he didn't have a care in the world. He didn't think anyone bought the facade, but he continued with it anyway. About an hour later, he noticed that his double was waking up again, if barely. A brief moment of hesitation later, John redirected his nonchalant strolling towards the beds. He'd been thinking about it for some time, but he still wasn't actually sure how he was going to frame the question to his older double.

_Hey, I have no proof or anything – mainly because you were annoyingly succinct in your letter, although I get why – but I was wondering if you've slept with my boss? I only ask because, while, yes, you haven't done anything particularly overt-like to hint that you and this other version of Elizabeth have done the horizontal cha-cha at some point, you're still giving off those vibes. So, like, yeah? Have you slept with her? _

His older self smirked as John approached, turning annoyingly amused even as his eyes fluttered closed in exhaustion. "You aren't involved with Elizabeth here, are you?"

Instinctively glancing around to make sure no one was around to eavesdrop, John found the coast clear. The older Elizabeth was still out cold, and everybody else in the infirmary wasn't in listening distance. He released a deep breath and turned back to stare, slightly annoyed, at the older version of himself. "Say it louder next time. I don't think the SGC heard ya there."

"So, is that a yes?"

John glared and then whispered in a tightly controlled voice. "No, it's not."

"Hmm." His double said, nodding. He glanced up at John with scrutinizing eyes, and then commented: "Idiot."

John sighed. He had a feeling his double wasn't seeing the picture clearly. "Major, she's like my Commanding Officer."

"She'd be worth a Court Martial," his double replied lightly, then paused for a moment to give a deep yawn. "You read my letter?"

John paused, confused at the non-sequitur. "The nightmare inducing note that mentioned your expedition drowning, the stick-up-their-ass Ancients, those fun-loving Wraiths and some vague details about some good ol' fashioned torture and mayhem in between all that? Yeah, I managed to read a word or two."

Even groggy, John recognized the serious look that settled onto his double's expression. "All that?" He rasped, and glanced at the slumbering feminine figure next to him. "She was worth that, too." And then his eyes fluttered opened and closed, and he fell asleep again before John could respond.

Not that John knew how to respond to that.

* * *

Hours later, John had finally pieced together their story from beginning to end. The details that the letter left out, the older versions of Elizabeth and John personally filled in. Between the lapses of consciousness spread over the long day, their doubles managed to tell a story that was both horrifying and amazing.

The bulk of the information was given during midday, when both had finally managed to stay awake for an extended period of time. They were gently shifted into wheelchairs and rolled out into the fresh air of Atlantis. The older Elizabeth insisted on taking in the above-water view of the ocean from one of Atlantis's balconies, so he left the two Elizabeths out there to talk while he gave a tour of the place to his own double – not that the older John had really needed a tour of this place.

They settled into the conference room some time afterwards, with John's team joining in to listen. There, they were finally told the story in all its full detail. Their original expedition. The shield collapsing. The time-traveling Gateship – Puddle Jumper, John automatically corrected. His older double had grinned in response and shared a significant look with the older Elizabeth; who simply rolled her eyes in exasperation. They talked about the ill-fated and completely bat-shit idea of the delegation, and how they still set out on it. The various friends, enemies, and friends-that-turned-out-to-be-enemies that sprinkled the story made up for an interesting look into the heart of Ancient politics. By then, Loren's name being dropped had been expected, as was the mention of the Aurora again.

John hated to be the one to add more bad news on top of everything, but he had to tell them about the destruction of the Ancient vessel. Their doubles had paused, grief stricken, but they had taken the news as well as could have been expected. Then again, John was still holding his breath for the moment both of them – hell, either one of them – suddenly exploded with anger at all the shit they'd been through. Their story hadn't painted the prettiest picture.

When Athos was eventually mentioned, Teyla had literally balked, her natural composure faltering under the unexpected reference to her homeworld. "You saw Athos fall?"

The older Elizabeth glanced at the Athosian, probably still unaware of the connection she had to the planet. "No, not precisely. Athos was one of the planets among the Alterian's strongholds that suffered the worst when the final Wraith siege began." She paused, awkwardly. "John and I had been on the Aurora when they were first sent the call for aide from Athos."

Ronon raised an eyebrow, expectant. "Yeah? And?"

The older John exhaled harshly, looking grim with the memory. "The Aurora hadn't been able to do anything to help."

Teyla looked about as pale as she could get without fainting. "That is… to be expected, I suppose. I grew up in the ruins of what must have been destroyed that day."

The older John sat back in his wheelchair, surprised. "You're from Athos?"

Teyla nodded, mutely.

He raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a thinly disguised expression of sympathy. "Small galaxy, huh?"

Then, they learned how the delegation ended – with spectacular fireworks that had nearly gotten everybody killed. Added in was a splash of more chaos, a betrayal, and more death, John was nearly struck speechless by the time they tagged the entire story with the details of their decision to sleep through millenniums to save this expedition. He couldn't imagine making that type of sacrifice, and although he knew he would if he had to, the stark evidence of it in his double's wrinkled face made the entire thing morbidly real. He swallowed through his dry throat, and tried to not to think too much about the sacrifices these two had made.

Elizabeth cleared her throat, and stood up at the crux of the curved conference table. "I think I speak for everyone here today…" She paused, glancing down at the tabletop, and took a moment to regroup. When she looked back up, she looked almost overwhelmed with emotion. "Words of gratitude seem utterly useless in this case."

Older-John grinned. "Dr. Elizabeth Weir, speechless. I never thought I'd live to see the day."

An aging feminine hand had enough strength in it to whack him in the shoulder. "Quiet, Major. I'm trying to say something."

Elizabeth shared a smile with her double, and then turned serious again. "We wouldn't be here without you. You sacrificed everything to save us. This seems inadequate as a response, but… thank you."

* * *

When the two were settled back into their beds and once again asleep, John propped his feet up against the edge of an empty nearby infirmary bed and pretended to fall asleep as well. Rodney was lying prone in another bed behind him, and up front, John pretended not to notice Elizabeth's vigil over their two guests. They both slumbered now, exhausted by ten thousand years of rest and one full day of activity. It had been an eventful twenty-four hours, to say the least.

He took a moment to thank whatever deity was up there that their doubles had left out any details of their personal lives in their narrative earlier today, especially with his teammates around to listen in. But the words omitted in their story still rang with crystal clear clarity in John's ears, and his imagination fixated on everything not said. For every pause and carefully placed word, John's mind supplied half a dozen insinuations into each one.

He suspected Elizabeth was doing the same thing, even if she kept up a good pretense. Besides Rodney, he doubted any one picked up on the slight shift in her behavior, and even if they did, she had the good excuse of being overwhelmed by the presence of her ten-thousand year old doppelganger as a cover. John knew that they'd have to confront this issue eventually, but for the time being, he was fully willing to let Elizabeth keep to herself for as long as she wanted. He wasn't sure what he'd say to her at this point anyway.

_Hey, Elizabeth, you can't tell me you haven't ever considered us being like that, all couple-y, at least a few times since we came to Atlantis._

'Cause I sure as hell have.

Yeah, he wasn't sure that would go over all too well. Elizabeth was all about protocol and propriety and regulations. She'd balk at the idea of anything more between them, which was largely why John never let his thoughts stray down that particular line of thought too far. Now, though, that door had been opened and John wasn't sure if he'd be able to shut it closed again. Staring at their doubles, even if they never overtly said or did anything, the implications of their relationship seemed to be the most salient thing he noticed about them. He knew, without even being told, that their relationship ran deeper than simply respect and co-dependency.

With a woman like Elizabeth, John knew it'd have to be.

"John," Elizabeth called quietly. "I know you're not asleep. Get up."

John blinked his eyes open, pretending to be groggy. "Yeah, what is it?"

"I think we need to give them some privacy," she said anxiously. "I think it's time. They… they want to say goodbye to each other."

He turned to catch sight of the older Elizabeth closing her eyes in exhaustion, and his own double's concerned reaction to it. Elizabeth began drawing the white curtains closed around them, and the last glimpse John got of them made him feel instantly miserable with an undeniable weight settling into his stomach like a solid block of lead.

They were about to die.

"Oh," John said dumbly. He took a deep breath himself, suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin. "So… privacy then?"

She quietly walked over to him, and glanced behind him at Rodney. "He asleep?"

John stared, scrutinizing, and confirmed it with a nod. "Dead to the world." And split-second later, he wished he hadn't said the "D" word out loud.

Mutely, Elizabeth nodded with a tight expression on her face, and then started walking towards the exit. John cast one last look at the white curtains drawn closed, and he could hear aged voices whispering to each other behind it. He thought he caught wind of the word "love" somewhere in there, and suddenly, there was another rush of tightness in his chest. He turned on his heels and followed Elizabeth out the door. Outside the infirmary, this late at night, it was just the two of them.

"I don't believe this is happening," Elizabeth said softly, pacing the corridor. John stood still and watched the tension build in her shoulders. "It's just too surreal, you know?"

He nodded, and then cleared his throat. "Elizabeth…" She stopped and looked at him, and it took a moment for him to recover sufficient courage to plow through. "You do realize we can't avoid the pink elephant in the room forever, right?"

She froze, and then said tightly, "What's to discuss, John? Those two in there," she said, shaking her head, "they're not us."

John licked his lips, looking away. "Yeah, no arguments there. But…" he trailed off. God, after everything he'd been through, he was still a complete coward when it came talking about his feelings. Even with Elizabeth. Especially with Elizabeth. He forced himself to look her in the eye, turning curious. "Have you ever thought about it?"

Elizabeth paused again, and then said faintly, "Thought about what?"

John gave her a look; the one that told her he knew she wasn't that oblivious. "You know what."

She closed her eyes briefly and looked away, emotions hovering too close to the surface for her to hide. She didn't even need to say anything, but John suddenly knew the answer. She had. Holy shit, she had thought about it. About _them,_ like _that._ A rush of elation shot up his spine, and entirely without his command, he found himself stepping forward. She stepped back in retreat, and John realized immediately that he needed to back off.

He looked away, suddenly overwhelmed with nameless emotions. "I have, you know," he commented, lightly, as if he was talking about the weather. He turned back to look at her, eyes slowly turning serious as they locked onto hers. "I've thought about it. A lot."

She hesitated, unable to look away from him. "You have?"

The conversation was all subtext - about things not said - but then their entire relationship had developed that way. He wasn't sure where all of _this_ was suddenly coming from, though, or why neither one of them was turning away when all logic should have demanded they stop this conversation right here and now. Elizabeth, especially, should have shut this conversation down under normal circumstances. Today wasn't normal. Seeing the possibility of _what-if?_ played out so vividly before his eyes had thrown John for a loop. Apparently, by the look of things, he wasn't the only one.

When he stepped forward this time, she didn't step back. "I have."

Her lips parted to say something, but she seemed rendered speechless. Suddenly, his hands were sweaty like a teenager's, and his heart beat away in his chest so loudly he wondered if she could hear it. John found his eyes drawn to her parted lips, and the urge to kiss her turned sharply fierce. He'd entertained the fantasy more times than was probably healthy in the last few years, but in that second, it felt more real – more palpable - than any other time.

Silence settled between them, but John wasn't struggling for a way to cover it up. It was filled with everything they couldn't say – hadn't said to each other the years – and the silence was more telling than words. The knowledge that they both wanted this, both wanted the same thing, was born in that moment.

"John," she began, knowingly, feeling the same thing he was. "This is beyond stupid."

"Yeah," John agreed, and then thought – _But some things are worth being stupid for._ Before the opportunity slipped through his fingers, he impulsively invaded her space and found himself staring at her from a breath away. She didn't move. Hell, she barely even breathed. And John's normal flippant disposition was overridden by a wave of determination that turned his voice sober and serious. "But one of the first things I ever told you—" he said, licking his lips, "—was that I'd get us into all sorts of trouble."

And then he kissed her.

At first, she was immobile. John knew the repercussions and consequences of this were playing through her head just like it was through his, from the chain of command to the SGC to the decisions that would never be the same after this, but then she leaned into him and they were both instantly lost. As his mouth moved over hers, he could taste the hesitation slip away into oblivion, and acceptance and need quickly take its place.

There were few things in life that made John Sheppard feel like he was flying blind, free falling with no control whatsoever. This, he quickly found out, was one of them. Three years they'd been friends. Three years they'd relied on each other and grown closer and survived. It took him today to realize that it had always been more than that. His double may have been older, but John suddenly realized his wisdom came from other things. The lucky son of a bitch had this all along.

During the entire time, not far from them, another version of John and Elizabeth whispered parting words to each other with their last breaths… and then slipped away into their final slumber.

While one story ended, another was finally beginning.

* * *

  
Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do.  
Nothing to prove.  
And it's you and me and all of the people.  
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you.

What day is it? And in what month?  
This clock never seemed so alive.  
I can't keep up and I can't back down.  
I've been losing so much time.

"You and Me"  
Lifehouse  
(A/N: As cliched as it sounds, this song was literally the inspiration for this entire story.)

_Beginning's End_  
Fin 


End file.
